


The Difference Between Poetry and Rhetoric

by eurydice72



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cancer Arc, F/M, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-25
Updated: 2013-07-29
Packaged: 2017-12-21 07:52:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 64,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/897799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eurydice72/pseuds/eurydice72
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the kinkme_merlin prompt: Arthur/Gwen, Modern AU. Geeky Gwen with glasses is attracted to the very cute popular boy Arthur, but knows that nothing could happen between them. When Gwen's Dad is dying Arthur helps her and romance (and friendship) blooms even during her grief. Bonus points if Arthur is secretly geeky in his own way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_Don't look. Don't look. You're going to regret it. You always do. Don't--_

Her lashes flickered upward.

He was smiling. Laughing at something the vapid blonde he'd walked in must have said. His eyes had crinkled at the corners, and Gwen could even see that crooked canine she'd tried for weeks to convince herself was awful and ugly, but was in fact absolutely adorable.

When he shifted in his seat, Gwen's gaze flew back to the library card application she’d been typing in before he caught her staring.

Her cheeks flooded with heat.

_Told you, you shouldn’t have looked. Now you get to imagine him with her for the rest of the day. When are you ever going to learn?_

She sneaked one more glance up at him through her lashes.

_Apparently never._

With a sigh, Gwen turned her back on the reading tables situated near her desk. Arthur Pendragon had been coming into the library two days a week for the past six months, and never once spoken a single word to her. She didn’t think he would even be able to recognize her as part of the staff if she was in a crowd of two. As far as he was concerned, she was a piece of their furniture, like the shelves and the computers and the books.

She only wished she could ignore him just as effectively.

The occasional giggle from his date shattered Gwen’s concentration every time it drifted from their table. Nobody complained, though she wished fervently someone would. Then, she’d have the distinct pleasure of kicking Miss Page Three out of the library and away from Gwen’s sight. Arthur would have to notice her then, even if it was simply to get annoyed at the dumpy librarian who dared to disrupt his date.

“She’s just jealous of you, you know,” she imagined him telling the girl once they were out on the walk. “Because you’re beautiful, and she’s not.”

Miss Page Three would then clap her hands, and jump and down, because everyone knew physical activity sparked mental acuity; ergo, bouncing made it possible for the girl to formulate a coherent sentence. “Tell me what else she’s jealous of.”

“Your eyes. Blue are definitely better than brown. Not that you can see hers through those bloody awful glasses.”

“Go on, go on.”

“Your hands. Did you see hers? Nails bitten to the quick. A weird little finger. She even had a plaster on her thumb.”

“More, more!”

“You're with me, and she's not.”

And there was the rub. As much as Gwen wanted to deny it, as much as she loathed everything Miss Page Three was and represented, she'd trade places with the girl faster than you could say beans on toast.

“Excuse me.”

Gwen jerked at the male voice coming from the other side of her counter, knocking over her pencil holder as she whipped around to address him. She stopped short at the sight of Arthur leaning against it, resting against his forearms with a twist of a smile on his pouty lips.

She blinked once. He was still there. So she blinked again. And again. No amount of clearing her vision made him go away.

His smile faded slightly, and he unfolded his hands to wave one back and forth, directly in her line of sight. “Hello? Can you help me, please?”

“Help you?” As soon as she'd repeated his words back to him, she felt like a fool. She took a deep breath and rose from her chair, amazed she didn't trip over one of its casters as she closed the distance between them.

He didn't move from his position, instead locking his hands back together and smiling again. The scent of a woodsy cologne grew stronger as she came near, and a red nick along his jaw became more distinct. She'd never been this close to him before. All of her longing had come from a safe distance, him on his side of the desk, Gwen on her side. She'd never had the opportunity to fully appreciate how much his eyes twinkled, or the near perfect curve of his generous lower lip. No man should have a mouth that delicious, she'd long thought. She'd seen it screw up into a grimace, stick into a smirk, or once, brush across a girl's cheek in a kiss that Gwen had dreamt about for days. Now, she got to see it up close and personal. Her dreams would be very pleasant tonight, that was for certain.

“How long have you worked here?” he asked.

His odd query broke through the spell his appearance had cast over her, and she frowned, finally settling back into librarian mode. “Pardon?”

“How long have you worked here?” He repeated the question patiently, as if it was perfectly normal for him to have to repeat himself.

She shook her head. “I'm not sure what that has to do with anything library-related.”

“Well, see, it's like this. I've been working on this research, and I can't seem to find what I need today. So I'm hoping, if you've worked here for some time, you might know of other places I could go to get what I want. Places a new librarian might not be aware of.”

“You want...another library recommendation?”

“Exactly.”

As gratifying as it was to have him finally speaking to her, pride in their facility overwhelmed all else. Gwen pulled herself straighter. “We have the best resources in the county, Mr. Pendragon. But perhaps it’s not a library you’re interested in.”

“What’re you talking about? Wait. Don’t answer that.” His smile was gone now, his gaze intense. “How did you know my name?”

“This isn't exactly your first time here.”

“Have we spoken before?”

_Only in my imagination._

“Arthur...” His blonde date appeared at his elbow, resting her perfect little chin on his hard biceps and gazing up at him with her lower lip poking out. “I'm bored. Let's get something to eat.”

Arthur took a few seconds to look away from Gwen, though the long, slow slide of his eyes left an invisible burning trail over her skin. “I'm almost done here. Two more minutes.”

“That's what you said five minutes ago. I'm wasting away.”

“You're not wasting away.”

She turned to Gwen. “Do you have a snack machine here? Something with crisps, maybe.”

Where did she think she was? “No,” Gwen said tightly. “There's no food or drink allowed in the library.”

“What if people get hungry?”

“Then they go home to eat. This is a _library_.”

“Arthur...”

Gwen had no idea how he put up with the way she turned each letter of his name into its own syllable. She'd only been listening to the girl for thirty seconds, and already she wanted throw her in the Thames.

With an apologetic smile - for the girl, not for Gwen, of course - Arthur pushed off the counter and straightened. “All right. I'm a little peckish myself.”

They had walked away several feet, heading for the front of the library, when Gwen blurted, “What sort of research did you need help with?”

Arthur paused, and looked back, a curious glint in his eyes. “Something historical.”

“That’s a little vague.”

“So it’ll give us something to talk about the next time I come in.” He grinned. “Since this isn’t exactly my first time here.”

She was left there gaping like a fish, watching him stride out with the blonde hanging off his arm. Next time. He planned to speak with her on his next visit. _Her._ The snippy voice in the back of her head – that sounded surprisingly like Miss Page Three now; Gwen was going to have to do something about that soon or be driven mad – made it perfectly clear it believed Arthur only wanted to give her grief, both for having the gall to know his name and for not having whatever resources he thought necessary for his research, but Gwen wasn’t listening. She was too busy doing the mental math on how long before she had to talk to him again, and if it was enough time to figure out how not to make a fool of herself. 

“Gwen.”

Geoffrey stood at the far corner of her desk, his features somber, his hands folded together in front of him. She frowned. The head librarian rarely emerged from his office these days. Had he seen her brief exchange with Arthur?

“Yes?”

“Your father called. He’d like for you to come home as soon as possible.”

“What? Did he say why?”

Geoffrey paused, then shook his head. “You should go. Don’t worry about the rest of your shift. I’ll take care of it.”

Any thrill she’d experienced having Arthur talk to her vanished. Her father never bothered her at work. Even when he’d had the car accident and was taken to Emergency, she’d finished the day and gone home to find him stretched out on the couch with his broken ankle resting on a pillow. Two nurses had even signed his cast. “What are you not telling me?”

“I don’t know the details. All I know is he said it was important.”

Just a few minutes ago, she’d thought getting Arthur Pendragon to notice she existed was the most important thing in the world.

Now she knew…importance was entirely relative.

* * *

Her father’s Vauxhall sat in their driveway, as if it was perfectly normal for him to be home in the middle of a Tuesday afternoon. Gravel sprayed around Gwen’s tires when she yanked the wheel to pull in behind him, but she ignored her damp palms and her overactive imagination and even locking her car, to race for the front door.

“Dad!”

“What’re you shouting for?” His low, mildly amused voice came from their tiny lounge at the front left of their two-bedroom bungalow. Gwen veered for it, letting the door slam shut.

Tom DeGrance sat in his chair by the fireplace, today’s _Daily Mail_ folded open on his lap. Though he smiled when she entered, he looked tired, lines bracketing the sides of his mouth she couldn't remember being so prominent before. His dark eyes were warm, however, and he waved her over, tossing the paper into the basket on the hearth.

“What are you doing home?” she asked. She perched on the edge of the pouf, reaching out to put a hand to his forehead. “Are you not feeling well?”

“Funny you should ask that.” He sat there patiently as she touched here and there, trying to find a fever that would explain his mysterious behavior. “I had a doctor's appointment this morning.”

She sat back with a thump. “I didn't know that.”

“I didn't tell you.”

“Why did you go to the doctor's?”

“Why do most people go to the doctor's?”

Sometimes, getting a straight answer out of him was like trying to argue with a teenager bringing in books that were months overdue. No amount of direct questions ever did the trick. It was as if their personal mission was to be as obtuse as possible.

“Do I need to call the surgery and find out for myself?”

“You could, but Dr. Gaius is a tad frustrated with me, too. He's of the opinion you and I should have had this talk before now.”

The more he said, the bigger the pit in her stomach grew. “And what talk would that be?”

His hands fidgeted in his lap. Calluses deformed the angles of his fingers, evidence of his decades of hard labor, and she wished - not for the first time - his life hadn't been quite so hard. He loved metalworking, but the job had taken its toll. Long hours when she'd been young, aches and pain as he got older. Gwen wondered if that had something to do with his doctor visit today.

“I've been feeling out of sorts for a little while,” Tom said. “It didn’t seem serious. I thought it was just old age finally catching up with me.”

“You're not old.”

“I'm not young anymore, either. Though I wanted to be, and certainly acted like it more than once. So I ignored it. I figured it would just...sort itself out.”

“And it didn't.”

“A couple times, I thought it had. Some days, I felt normal, like I could do anything. Then when the symptoms came back, I decided I must've pushed myself too hard, or eaten the wrong thing, that's all.” He smiled at her, though it was impossible to smile back. “You know me. I don't like being fussed over.”

She caught his hand and held it between her own. “Sometimes, it's better if you are.”

His broad thumb stroked the side of her hand, and her fears grew tenfold. The fact that he wasn’t pulling away from her was cause for alarm. Demonstrative, he was not. He showed his love for Gwen through laughter and deeds, not hugs and kisses. 

“It’s cancer, luv.” He said it matter-of-factly, no more stalling, no more hesitations. “Doctors confirmed it today.”

She couldn’t breathe, and she was pretty sure her ears weren’t working correctly because her father – the only family she had left – could not have such a horrible disease. “No. They have to be wrong.”

“Would make all that schooling a waste, then, don’t you think?” His free hand came up to cover hers. When did her hands get to be so small? “They’re not wrong. This was the second time with the tests. They came back just like they did the first time.”

First time. Long enough ago for him to go back again, and she’d never even suspected something was wrong. All of her life, she’d been accused of getting lost in her books, but she’d ignored everyone who’d said so, even when she knew it was true. Books were safe places. They didn’t mock you for being too smart, and they didn’t call you weird because you preferred _Dr. Who_ to _EastEnders_. The boys in books were always sweet and charming, and never sent their best mates over to tell you to stop staring because it was embarrassing to have everybody think you liked them.

People never died in books, if you were careful about which ones you picked to read.

Gwen let out the breath she’d been holding. Her chest ached. “What kind?”

“Pancreatic.”

“And the treatment? Can they operate?”

Tom shook his head. “It’s too far gone for that. They say chemotherapy is my best chance. But, Gwen, the odds aren’t good. Once it’s spread this much…” His voice trailed off. They both knew the rest of the sentence didn’t need to be uttered aloud.

Forget the ache. Her entire body was numb. “You should have told me.”

“I’m telling you now.”

“ _No_. You should have told me before. I would’ve gone with you.”

“So you could spend all your time worrying about me? What would be the point of that? And what if it turned out to be nothing? Just think of all the time you would’ve wasted, hanging around your old man instead of people your own age.”

Gwen rolled her eyes. “Yes, because my social calendar is just so incredibly booked.”

His good humor faded. Slowly, his hands fell back into his lap. “The last thing you need is me holding you back. I’m only telling you now because things will be changing around here. For a while, at least.”

“Until the cancer’s gone, you mean.”

“Or until it’s not.”

“Don’t think like that. We have to believe for the best.”

“And we will. That doesn’t mean I don’t know what my chances are. Dr. Gaius was very clear on those.”

“Then we’ll have to prove him wrong.” Taking a deep breath, she lifted her chin and met her father’s gaze straight on. “People beat the odds all the time. There’s no reason we can’t, too.”

A ghost of his smile came back. “There’s my Gwen. I knew she was in there somewhere.”

She returned his smile, though she had to summon every ounce of strength she had to do so. She knew Tom didn’t have hopes for his prognosis. If he had, he never would have called her away from work to tell her. But she refused to give him up without a fight. If that meant she had to have enough hope to fill Wembley Stadium, so be it.


	2. Chapter 2

Glasses were supposed to make her sight better, not worse, though Gwen supposed sitting in front of a computer for six hours, reading dry medical reports and scanning through Google searches, might prove daunting for even the thickest lenses. Her eyes burned and occasionally watered, but she wasn’t even close to calling it a day. She’d discovered virtual reams of valuable information on pancreatic cancer. She had no intention of stopping until she’d read it all, no matter how gruesome or depressing it got. The more knowledge she had, the better she could help her father with his treatment.

Plus, added bonus of keeping her brain too busy to create doomsday scenarios. Like the ones that had kept her up all night.

Her stomach growled. It didn’t care that she’d worked through lunch.

“Aren’t you supposed to be on the other side of the desk?”

Her hand flew to minimize the window she’d been reading, her entire body jerking at the sound of Arthur’s amused voice. She twisted to find him straddling the chair next to her, arms resting on its back, chin resting on his folded hands as he watched her overreact to his sudden presence.

Any other day, and she would have been on the floor, thanking God for whatever good deed she might have done that had earned her a few moments of Arthur’s attention. He was even smiling at her. She’d fantasized about scenes like this ever since that first day he’d walked into the library and sat for three hours at a table right by her desk, giving her the perfect view to stare at his strong profile uninterrupted.

But this wasn’t any other day, and she didn’t have time to indulge in her silly little crush, no matter how yummy Arthur looked in his blue jumper.

She tore her gaze away and focused on the screen. “It’s my day off.”

“Funny, it looks like you’re working. Except, you know, on this side.”

She could even hear his smile. He probably thought this was all too funny, the odd little librarian who couldn’t even escape when she wasn’t supposed to be there. Her hackles went up, his teasing all too familiar from years gone past, and she set her jaw as she clicked open a new window to start searching treatment facilities in and around Wiltshire.

“Well, I’m not,” she said, keeping her tone brisk. “So if you’re looking for assistance, you’ll have to go to the front desk. I can’t help you today.”

“I wasn’t.”

He also wasn’t moving.

“Am I in your seat or something?” she asked. “Because the computers aren’t assigned. It’s first come, first serve.”

“My seat’s just fine, thank you.”

The image of him walking away from her desk – on numerous occasions – filled her head. _Oh, yes, it was._

Fighting to control the blush rising to her cheeks, Gwen stared at the blinking cursor in her Google box. She’d typed in “treatment faculty.” She bit the inside of her cheek as she backspaced to fix the mistake.

“Don’t you have a date to get back to?”

“Why would you think I have a date?”

“You always have a date.”

“Now that’s a bit of an overstatement, don’t you think?”

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye to see him regarding her quizzically, that _aren’t I charming_ smile twisting his mouth. His jumper really did a number with his eyes, brightening them so he seemed almost friendly. “You had a date yesterday,” she reminded.

His face immediately scrunched into a moue. “Only because she wouldn’t leave it alone.”

He didn’t clarify what _it_ was, but that was all right. The little voice in the back of her head did it for her. In completely, R18-rated Technicolor.

“Still.” _Concentrate. He’ll only mock you further if he sees that he’s got to you._ “This is a library, not singles night at the corner pub.”

“Ah, but I brought her with me. That’s not the same thing.”

For all the times she’d wondered what it would be like to actually speak with Arthur Pendragon, a conversation this frustrating and this inane had never once suggested itself. Usually, she was the one who did all the talking, while he just sat there looking gorgeous and occasionally nodding in agreement, or laughing at something clever she’d said. He’d never once argued with her, or annoyed her, or done anything that wasn’t perfect.

Which, of course, was why they were fantasies and not real, because in real life, men like Arthur chose women like Miss Page Three, and they lived happily ever after, creating beautiful blond children with perfect eyesight.

She slid a finger beneath her lens to rub at the corner of her eye. She was starting to get a headache. Maybe it was time to call it a day, after all.

“Here.”

A tissue appeared in front of her, held between two blunt fingers. Gwen looked up to follow the fingers past the strong wrist, up the strong arm, onto the broad shoulder, and straight to Arthur’s smiling eyes.

“I’m not crying,” she blurted, though that wouldn’t have been true last night. “My eyes are tired.”

“I know.” He waved it lightly, like a little flag. “Go ahead, take it.”

She did so reluctantly, only tearing her gaze away from him once she had the tissue in hand. Removing her glasses, she wiped away the worst of the moisture, pinching the bridge of her nose when she was done. The momentary darkness helped, at least with the discomfort. It didn’t do much for trying to block the images on cancer she’d seen over the past few hours, or understand why exactly Arthur was still sitting next to her, or why he’d volunteer a tissue completely unsolicited.

A waft of cologne whispered across her nose, the same scent she’d noticed yesterday. He’d pulled the tissue from his pocket. Her mouth watered unexpectedly.

“Thank you,” she murmured. She kept her eyes averted as she reached for her glasses, only to bump into the back of his hand as he got there first. Her head snapped up. The rest of her froze as he held her glasses out for her to take.

“I don’t know your name,” he said.

She swallowed. “And why should you?”

“You know mine. Seems only fair.”

Their fingers brushed. Heat rushed up her arm as she put her glasses back on, and his features came into sharp focus. There wasn’t a trace of teasing or mockery anywhere to be found.

“Gwen.” And then, as an afterthought, “DeGrance.”

His smile widened. “Well, it was a pleasure to meet you, Gwen DeGrance. And as I’ve likely outstayed my welcome…” He rose from his chair and pushed it back under the table. “I’ll leave you to your not-work.” He’d taken only two steps when he stopped and turned around. “As a gesture of my good faith, I’ll make you a promise.”

“What’s that?”

“I’ll come by myself from now on. This is a library, after all. The only dates I should have here are with the books and you.”

And with a nod of his head, he walked away, leaving Gwen hot, flustered, and wondering what the hell had just happened.

* * *

As she watched Tom finish tying his shoe, all Gwen felt was disbelief.

“What do you mean, no? I want to come with you.”

He pulled the laces tight, but when he sat up, a sheen of sweat glistened on his brow. “All you’ll do is sit around all afternoon, waiting for me. Don't be daft.”

“But I took the day off special.”

“Then do something special. Call one of your mates, go to the cinema, take advantage of having the afternoon all to yourself.” When he touched her cheek, she noticed the slight yellowing in his eyes. Jaundice. A common symptom. If only she’d seen it before things had progressed this far. “They’re just going to hook me up to some IVs, and then give me a magazine to read while they pump the drugs into me. It’ll be boring as all hell. And I won’t have you wasting your time at hospital, just because of me.”

_It’s not a waste. It might be all I get._

But as soon as she had the thought, she felt like a traitor for giving up hope, even for a second. She couldn’t treat him like this was it. He might start believing it.

“How are you planning on getting there?” she asked instead.

He smiled and patted her shoulder. “Nothing wrong with the bus.”

Her jaw dropped. “Except you have to walk home from the stop. The doctors said the gemcitabine was likely to make you drowsy afterward. No. I’m taking you. I won’t stay,” she added when he opened his mouth to argue some more. “I’ll ask the nurse how long you’ll be, then I’ll come back and get you when you’re done. End of story.”

He didn’t seem pleased with her announcement, but she’d inherited his stubborn streak, and she wasn’t going to budge on this. Sighing, he turned away and picked up his jacket. “You can’t do this every time, Gwen. You have your own life to live. A job you love.”

“I know.” Though she had every intention of talking to Geoffrey and asking if special arrangements could be made. She could time her breaks to coincide with when Tom needed to come and go from the hospital. “Let’s go.”

The ride was devoid of conversation. As soon as they got into her car, Tom tuned in Radio 4, forcing her to sit through _The Archers_. He chuckled at Joe Grundy’s antics, just like he did every other time he listened to the program. Gwen tried to smile, but the weight of her mood made it more and more difficult, the closer they got to hospital.

“You can just drop me off in front here,” Tom directed, pointing through the windshield. “I’ll wait for you there, too, but don’t rush back if you’re having fun. They’ve a nice café. I’ll just have a tea if you’re running late.”

She was ready to remind him of the nausea the drugs were likely to cause, but held her tongue at the look on his face. “I’ll come up with you. Just to see what it’s like.”

“And pay five quid for parking when you’re not even staying?” He leveled a frown at her. The last time he’d looked at her like that, she’d been seventeen, and sneaking back into the house after spending all night at a friend’s without permission. It was the last time she’d openly defied his rules. She couldn’t stand the disappointment she saw in his face for the weeks after the incident. “Gwen. Pull up. I’ll see you at four.”

She did as she was told, accepting his kiss on her cheek before he got out. She watched him go inside, waving to him when he glanced back, but when he was out of view, her shoulders crumpled. She shouldn’t be in the car. She belonged inside, with him, there in case he needed her. They were all each other had. 

Didn’t he know that?

A sour-faced matron appeared in the lobby window, glaring daggers at her. Gwen hastily pulled away from the curb, and though she desperately wanted to spend the five pounds and wait in the hospital lot, she’d never be able to maintain the lie to Tom’s face if he asked about her afternoon. She made it all the way to the street. The farthest she could get away was the newsagent’s on the corner.

Her knuckles ached from how tightly she gripped the wheel. _I should go home. Or the library. I’ll feel better there._ But though each would offer a different form of sanctuary, both would be a constant reminder of where she wasn’t.

_Someplace neutral, then. Tesco’s?_

_No. The shopping’s all done._

Maybe the cinema really was her best option.

As she sat there, trying to will her hands to move, the newsagent’s door swung open. She glanced up on reflex, and then gasped when Arthur Pendragon stepped outside.

He couldn’t have heard her – she was in her car, for goodness sake, and she had years of proper library etiquette ingrained into her – but his gaze almost immediately swept in her direction. It locked on her straight away, and his mouth quirked into a curious half smile. It wasn’t one of the mocking kinds, the ones bestowed upon her by all the kids at school who’d considered her beneath them. This was genuine, strikingly similar to the one he’d left her with at the library the last time she’d seen him. It froze her in her seat as he strode over.

He did that a lot, it would seem.

When he tapped on the glass, smile still in place, she had no choice but to roll down the window. “Gwen DeGrance,” he said.

“Arthur Pendragon.”

“You’re a long way from the library.”

“So are you.”

He leaned down and rested his arms on the edge of the open window. Why must he always try to invade her space? Now she’d smell his cologne every time she got into her car. As nice as it was, it was just a distraction she didn’t need right now.

“I didn’t know you lived around here,” he said.

“I don’t. I just left the hospital. Dropping someone off.” He didn’t need to know it was her father. That was too personal to share with almost everyone.

He nodded in understanding. “Me, too. Just left the hospital, I mean.”

“Why? You look more than fit.” _Oh, my god, I actually said that out loud._

But he didn’t make a big deal about it, except to say, “I’ll take that as a compliment. But you’re right. I’m not sick. I just work there. Physical therapist.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“And now you do.” His gaze slid past her to the empty seat at her side, then flickered to the rear before returning to her. “Are you off to work now?”

“No, it’s my day off.” She needed to explain her presence better, though. “I’m just debating where I’m going to kill the next couple hours.” 

His eyes twinkled. “And you chose the newsagent. Interesting selection.”

“I was peckish.”

“Tell you what.” He finally straightened, leaving one hand on the roof of the car but giving her room to get out if she chose. “Why don’t we get something to eat? There’s a pub around the corner. I could use a bite myself.”

It felt like all the air had been sucked out of the Skoda. “You want to go out. With _me_.”

“Why not? You’re available. I’m available. We’re both hungry. Sounds like the perfect arrangement.”

“Except you have a girlfriend.”

“I do? News to me.”

“The girl,” she insisted. “Your date? At the library?”

“Oh. Vivian.” True distaste twisted his handsome features. “Right. First of all, not my girlfriend. Her father’s one of the administrators at the hospital. She’s been bothering me for weeks about taking her out, so I finally agreed just to get her to stop. Secondly, I’m not going out with her again. The only reason I took her to the library in the first place was because I knew she’d get bored. With me, with the date.”

“You wanted to bore your date? That’s not exactly a ringing endorsement to grab a bite with you now.”

“I wanted her gone,” he said. “Her idea of research is studying fashion mags and _OK!_. You, on the other hand, are an entirely different matter.”

Her lips pressed together. “Because I’m already boring, is that it?”

“So far, not in the slightest.” He jerked his chin toward the corner. “But you’re welcome to use the next two hours at the pub to try and convince me otherwise.”

It was hard not to smile at his cocky playfulness, especially when the offer he made was so terribly appealing. Arthur had consumed her thoughts for months before her father’s diagnosis. She had no false hope that he was interested in her as anything more than a novelty or friend, but if anyone could distract her from what she was missing at the hospital, he was the one.

“All right.” Rolling up her window, she pocketed her keys and grabbed her purse before climbing out of the car. “The pub it is.”


	3. Chapter 3

The Prince Regent was nearly deserted, though Gwen wasn’t surprised, considering the afternoon hour. Only a few patrons scattered the dark interior, leaving them a wide number of seating options. She immediately dismissed the private table in the corner. Nearly hidden behind several large plants, it was too small and too intimate for her not to make a complete fool of herself.

That left something by a window or near the dartboard. Arthur took the decision away from her by settling his hand in the small of her back and guiding her to a table tucked off at the end of the bar.

“You fancy anything in particular?” he asked as she sat down.

She glanced up at the chalkboard on the wall. The words all blurred, and she shook her head before she embarrassed herself. “You pick.”

“Drink?”

“Lemon and lime, please.”

With a nod, he went over to the bar and leaned against the counter, smiling and chatting out of earshot. Her gaze drifted downward before she could stop it, but as soon as she realized where she was staring, she squeezed her eyes shut and buried her head in her hands.

_He does that on purpose. He knows he’s got a great bum, and he’s just showing it off._

She spread her fingers and peeked through them.

_But he does do it well. Why is he so damn pretty?_

When he turned around with two pint glasses, she hastily straightened. She even managed a smile. 

“You need to do that more often.” Rather than taking the seat opposite her, Arthur slid into the one at her side. “Or is there some sort of librarian rule that says you can’t?”

“What’s that?”

“Smile.” When he pushed her glass toward her, his hand lingered when she took it, his fingertips cold and wet against her skin. Shivers ran up her arm, seeping into her chest, seizing her lungs. The sight of him filled her vision, all laughing blue eyes and kissable lips. She couldn’t even remember what they were talking about until he said, “You’re always so serious when you’re at work. Don’t you like your job?”

“I love it. It’s what I’ve always wanted to do.”

“If something gives you that much pleasure, you should show it.”

“I do.”

He cocked his head. “Not with me.”

Memories of their previous encounters overwhelmed her, but she refused to apologize for her behavior. “That’s different.”

“How?”

“You were being difficult.”

“I asked for your help. That’s your job, isn’t it?”

She blinked. He honestly believed what he was saying. “You insulted the library,” she said, carefully enunciating each word to make him understand.

His slight frown was oddly adorable, but also evidence he still didn’t get it. “But…you’re not the library.”

The distinction took her by surprise. “Don’t you take offense if someone insults the hospital?”

He shrugged. “Depends on whether it’s deserved.”

“Exactly. Your comments weren’t.”

“How can you say that without knowing what I was trying to find?”

Gwen took a long sip of her cool drink, watching him over the rim of the glass as he waited for her to respond. His voice had held no trace of confrontation, but there was a definite tinge of satisfaction at having led her to a conclusion she might not have anticipated. She should have been annoyed. This was still her library they were discussing. But his demeanor made it entirely too difficult to maintain the antagonism, and she set down her glass, smiling as she shook her head.

“Sometimes, I think you like to argue, just for the sake of arguing,” she said.

“Funny. I’ve thought the same thing about you.” He toyed with his pint, though he didn’t pick it up. “Either we’re both wrong, or we’re both right. So which is it?”

“Does it matter?”

“Well, on one hand, you’re sitting there, completely justified in thinking I’m a bit of a prat, in which case, the odds I’ll get to see you again plummet drastically. On the other—”

“You want to see me again?”

She didn’t mean to blurt it out, but her tongue seemed to lose its ability to restrain itself around him. His suggestion was just so bizarre, though. Why on earth would he want to see her if he didn’t have to? This encounter was pure coincidence, just as their meeting in the library had been. The fact that she didn’t bore him was hardly enough to merit another.

His smile softened, his eyes doing the same. A single thumb wiped away some of the condensation on the side of his pint glass, mesmerizing her with its slow, almost sensual slides back and forth. “I know a lot of girls like Vivian,” he said. “Too many.”

She should’ve known it was too good to be true. “What, pretty?”

“Shallow,” he said without pausing. “Obsessed with who’s shagging who, who’s wearing what. They’re plenty opinionated when it comes to that, but ask them to have an individual thought about something else, or something actually important, and their heads explode. Or they just repeat back to you what you said, which rather defeats the purpose of asking them in the first place. _You_ don’t do that. And I like that.” 

His little speech stunned her. She’d thought much the same thing about the girls she’d known like Vivian. Hell, she’d thought much the same thing about _Arthur_. Anyone that pretty couldn’t be smart, too, after all. How fair would it be for someone to have both looks and brains?

As she sat there, trying to figure out how to respond, the bartender came over and set a platter down between them. The smell of spicy bhajis and samosas made her mouth water.

“Thanks, Henry.” Arthur said. To Gwen, “They do the best Indian here. I hope that’s okay.”

“No, it smells wonderful. This is a great choice.”

They divvied up the selection between them, and she had to laugh when he used the naan to make a little skirt for one of his samosas. It lightened the atmosphere between them, and she forgot momentarily about anything more than their afternoon snack and the anecdotes he kept sharing about previous visits to the pub. Each one was sillier than the last. Her face hurt from laughing so much.

“That’s what I meant,” he said, when she tore off a piece from the last bhaji. “You have the sweetest smile.”

For all his confusing signals, this one was crystal clear. His compliment was simple and sincere, his gaze direct. Gwen’s stomach did a little flip-flop, and she shoved her hands into her lap to hide their sudden trembling.

“I’m afraid I haven’t had much reason lately to smile very much,” she admitted. “So thank you for this. You have no idea how much I needed it.”

“Does it have to do with who you were dropping off at the hospital?”

“Yes.” Guilt replaced her earlier excitement. Here she was, having fun, while her father was hooked up to IVs, getting drugs pumped into his body in the hope they might actually do some good. It didn’t matter that he’d practically ordered her to enjoy herself. A good, supportive daughter would recognize where her priorities rested.

“I’m sorry.” His voice had gone gentle. That almost made it worse. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“No, no, it’s all right. It’s just…” She wasn’t prepared to talk about this, not with him, not with anyone. She wished she could rewind the clock and keep her emotions in check, anything to keep Arthur from sussing out even as much as he had. “It’s nothing. Honest.”

She knew he didn’t believe her, but to his credit, he merely nodded and dropped the subject. Of course, the topic he picked was almost as dodgy.

“So, about those odds…”

“I’m not sure this is the best time.” She hoped he would understand. Once she’d got past her trepidations, the afternoon had been a wonderful escape, beyond anything she could have reasonably expected. For once, Arthur’s charm had been hers, and hers alone to enjoy, to savor like a decadent flaky pastry. She could look at him to her heart’s content and not feel self-conscious, getting lost in the sheer pleasure of the moment.

But like the sweet nothing of the dessert, it couldn’t last. The meal always came to an end, and the real world would always return. The one where she had to find a way to cope with the inevitable changes in her father’s health. The chemotherapy wouldn’t be free of side effects. Tom needed her, more than ever, more than anyone. What Arthur seemed to be offering was more than she ever would have imagined receiving, but how selfish did that make her to consider it even for a moment?

“Just my luck.” He leaned back, one leg stretching out beyond the table’s edge. The faded denim molded over his powerful thigh, and her resolve almost slipped. “Sometimes, it’s absolute rubbish.”

She smiled wryly. “Somehow, I doubt that.”

“Are we arguing again?”

“No, it’s…diverging opinions.”

“Some would call that an argument.”

“I don’t. Friends can respect differences.”

“Is that what we are?”

“No.” When his face actually fell, she panicked and hastily added, “But I think we could be.”

She feared she’s misplayed the situation, and held her breath as she waited. _It’s all I have. You have to understand._

He lifted his nearly empty glass. “To potential friends.”

“Potential friends,” she echoed faintly, with a clink of her own drink to his.

And for a few more precious minutes, the world was a little less dark.

* * *

Music blasted into the hallway when Arthur opened his flat door, but Merlin snatched up the remote and turned it down as he entered.

“Sorry.” Merlin grimaced in apology. “I wasn’t expecting you home until later.”

“Nope, no plans.” He flopped down onto the couch, using his heel to push aside a stack of maps to make room for his feet. “What’s all this?”

“We’re debating adding a new flight. I’m looking for ideas.”

“How many balloon rides does one county need?”

“According to my bosses, at least one more. Oh. Here.” Leaning forward, Merlin rummaged through his mess until he found a post-it note stuck to a CD case. He tore it off and stuck it to Arthur’s leg. “You’ve got to come up with a new story for your father. He’s getting meaner every time he rings here and you’re not around.”

Arthur gave the phone message a cursory glance, then balled it up and tossed it onto the mess on the table. “I’ll get a cheap mobile and give him that number instead. Thanks for putting up with it as long as you have.”

“Maybe you should take one of his calls. He might back off if he actually talks to you once.”

“I already know what he’s going to say.”

“How? You’ve been ignoring him for the past three months.”

“Because it’s what he always says. He wants me to quit the hospital and come work for him.” He closed his eyes, trying to find something more pleasant to think about. Gwen’s face floated across his mind, and some of the tension seeing his father’s name and number had created dissolved away. “Not happening, mate.”

He heard Merlin’s small disapproving snort, but chose to ignore it in favor of thinking about his surprise afternoon with Gwen. He hadn’t expected to see her again until his next visit to the library, and even then, he’d never believed she’d agree to spend any time with him. Her disdain had been palpable the first time they’d spoken. Their second encounter had been better, but still, not enough to merit suggesting anything. Today had been a whim. Every time he saw her, he’d catch a flash of something, and then it would disappear behind that professional façade she’d perfected. His first instinct thought it was wistful, a dreaminess that was completely at odds with her sensible demeanor. Later, however, he wondered if it might be sadness, like a secret she couldn’t quite keep a leash on as much as she might fight to.

Either way, the curiosity was killing him.

“Why _are_ you home?” Merlin asked, breaking his reverie.

“I told you. No plans.”

“You always have plans.”

The statement held echoes of Gwen’s assertions. Arthur scowled. “I do not.”

“Oh, please. You actually have a social calendar.”

“It’s a day planner.”

“Where you log your social appointments. Ergo, a social calendar.”

“It has more than that. I log all my patients on it, too.”

“And dates.”

“And dentist appointments.” He leveled a hard frown at his flatmate. “Are you really equating Dr. Banerjee with a night out on the town?”

Merlin hesitated, then shrugged. “I guess not.”

But Arthur was on a roll, mildly frustrated that Merlin had come to the same conclusions Gwen had. At least Gwen had the excuse of not knowing him very well. “And for your information, I have dates that never end up on my calendar at all. I had one today, in fact.”

“Snogging with a pretty nurse on your break doesn’t count.”

“She wasn’t a nurse. And there wasn’t any snogging.”

“Please tell me it’s not a patient.”

“She’s a librarian. I met her doing my research.” Briefly, he described running into her at the newsagent’s. “So see? Completely unplanned.”

“Are you going out with her again?”

A perfectly innocent question, but somehow, it managed to dampen Arthur’s mood. “No. At least, well…no.”

“Well, that was definitive. Why not?”

“She turned me down. Said something about being friends, instead.” Which he’d accepted, but still didn’t fully understand.

“Maybe she’s already seeing someone.”

Arthur shook his head. “That’s not the impression I got.” In fact, he’d thought Gwen might be more than a little interested in pursuing something more than their casual acquaintance. She could’ve shot him down at any point, and yet, she’d allowed him chance after chance to talk to her. “I just think she’s a very private person.” There’d been a moment when he’d pressed the issue about going out again, when he’d felt her resistance give. It had seemed soft and delicate, which was why he hadn’t argued. The last thing he wanted was to destroy what fascinated him so much about her.

Merlin’s gaze turned contemplative. “You’re defending her quite a lot. Why’s that? Is she that pretty?”

She was, but it felt wrong to brag about that, even if Merlin was his best friend. “She’s different,” he said. “She intrigues me.”

“Because she turned you down. You’re not used to being on the ground with the rest of us lowly mortals.”

“Trust me. Gwen has never done anything to feed my ego.”

“Which is good, since it’s so bloated already.”

Arthur smacked at him, eliciting a laugh as Merlin twisted beyond his reach. Even though they’d taken different roads over the years, Merlin was as close to a brother as Arthur could ever hope to have. Nobody else could get away with pushing his buttons the way Merlin did, though he’d wondered more than once if Gwen might not be capable of the same.

“If she just wants to be friends, then that’s what we’ll be,” he said. “I think it’ll be worth it.”

Merlin stared at him, then picked up the remote and muted the music. “Say that again?”

“You heard me.”

“That’s why I asked. Because you don’t have female friends.”

“I told you. Gwen’s different.”

“She must be.” He rose and headed to the kitchen. “Want a beer since you’re in for the night?”

“Sure.” He was lost in his own head when Merlin came back, absently taking a sip as he replayed the events of the afternoon. “I keep wondering who it was she took to the hospital.”

“You didn’t ask?”

“It’s none of my business. If she wanted to tell me, she would.” He’d briefly debated asking around at the hospital, but ultimately chose not to. There were too many reasons she could have dropped somebody off, not to mention impossible to track if it was just a friend. More importantly, he would have breached her trust by prying. That, more than anything else, made it a bad idea.

“Well, I hope for your sake, you don’t muck it up. You’ll have to find another library to go to.”

True enough, but what Arthur feared even more were the regrets he’d likely have, losing the opportunity to get to know Gwen better.


	4. Chapter 4

Gwen yawned so hard, her jaw cracked, loud enough for an older woman at a nearby table to glance up from the book she was scanning. Embarrassed heat flooded Gwen’s cheeks. She ducked her head and covered her mouth to try and hide how obvious she’d been. 

_This day is never going to end._

The clock on her computer said four-thirty, and no matter how long she stared at it, the numbers didn’t change. Half an hour still to go on her shift, and she had no idea how she was ever going to make it. Worse, she had to stay awake long enough in the car to get home without wrapping the Skoda around a tree. Things wouldn’t improve at home, either. There’d be arguments with her dad about taking it easy, then more arguing when she’d catch him from falling on his face because he pushed himself too hard. If she was lucky, she’d fall into bed once he finally nodded off, but even there, sleep was no guarantee.

After all, it hadn’t been ever since he’d started his chemo.

She didn’t get it. Sometimes, he acted like nothing was wrong. She knew he was in pain. She’d caught him wincing, or holding his stomach, more than once. She knew there were other issues, too, since she was the one who waited outside the bathroom door for minutes upon minutes as he tried to use the toilet. But Tom maintained his stoic face, regardless of how many times she encouraged him to tell her what he needed.

“Nothing. I’m fine.” They were becoming his catchwords.

She’d never hated the word _fine_ as much as she did now.

Another yawn threatened to overwhelm her, though this time, Gwen hid it away before anybody caught her. 

Twenty-eight minutes.

It would be nice if staff could use the library as someplace to sleep like some of its patrons did.

Sitting at her desk wasn’t helping. At the end of the nearest stack, a nearly empty cart waited for its contents to be reshelved, and she pushed herself to her feet to do so. If she was moving around, she might be able to get some energy back. At the very least, it would get her away from her clock and watching the minutes fail to tick by.

The cart’s wheels squeaked as soon as she pushed it along. Gwen grimaced and ground to a halt, picking up the few books to carry them around in her arm instead.

The first two were easy. The third was housed in the special reference section at the front of the library, and she made a mental note to let Geoffrey know someone had failed to return the text to the main desk. Her head was ducked as she rounded the corner, her focus on the pages as she flipped through to make sure the book was still okay. Off to the side, the front door whispered open, the suck of warmer air rushing to meet the outside chill. She looked up and nearly stopped in her tracks when she saw Arthur stroll inside.

She hadn’t seen him in four days, though he had crept into her thoughts any time they weren’t filled with her father. It wasn’t often, granted. But she couldn’t forget his smile, or the way he’d looked back at her after leaving her at the newsagent. She’d climbed into her car, anxious to find out how Tom’s chemo had gone, and Arthur had headed for the hospital employee car park to go home. Before he’d reached the corner, he’d paused, and her heart had leapt when their eyes met.

He’d smiled again, then, and gave her a little wave. She could’ve sworn she could feel the feathery brush of his dry fingertips across her cheek.

Though her throat was dry, Gwen found the fortitude to deviate from her original path. “Hello,” she said as she approached, gratified when he turned toward at the sound of her voice. Ah, there it was, that devastating smile. This one was all for her.

“Just the woman I was looking for,” he said. 

“Oh?”

“I need to get back to my research, and since you seem to think you can help me…”

He seemed so earnest, so expectant, she regretted what she would have to say. “I can—”

“Excellent.”

“—but not today, most likely.”

His excitement faded. “Why not?”

Gwen gestured toward the large clock on the wall. “I’m only here for another fifteen minutes. Something tells me your…research will require more than that.”

“So stay late.”

Why did he have to make the exact requests she had to refuse? “I can’t.”

“I’ll pay the overtime, if that’s the problem. The library doesn’t have to take care of it.”

“That’s not the reason why.” She chewed on the inside of her lip, debating how much to reveal, then decided he was safe to tell at least a portion of the truth. “I’m needed at home.”

“Oh.” True disappointment this time. And not just on his part. “And you can’t get out of it?”

“No. I’m sorry.”

She expected him to turn around, or look for a different librarian, or _something_ in response to her rejection. After all, there was a reason he was here, and just because they’d spent a pleasurable afternoon together on one occasion, she had no reason to believe anything more would come.

Except he didn’t. He stood there, his hands tucked inside his front pockets, regarding her steadily with a thoughtful expression.

“Well, what are the odds I could get your undivided attention for now, at least? I promise I’ll let you go at five.” He grinned. “And maybe I’m not as difficult as you think I am.”

His apt description of her original assessment brought an answering smile to her face. “All right,” she conceded. “Let me put this last book away while you find a private table so we can discuss what you need.”

They split off in opposite directions, her step springier than before. She decided to pass on alerting Geoffrey to the problem with the reference book. She’d have time enough for that on another day, when she didn’t have other responsibilities demanding her attention.

_You’re such a liar. Arthur isn’t a responsibility._

She found him tucked away in a corner near her desk, at a small table designed for only one or two occupants. He seemed perfectly at ease, though in the narrow space, larger than usual, his shirt stretched across his broad back. Her body warmed at the sight of him. 

So did her heart.

Skirting as widely as she could, Gwen slipped into the chair at his side, half-turning to better address him. Their knees brushed, and more heat seeped into her skin. In her exhausted state, her reactions to him were out of control. Perhaps this wasn’t the best idea, after all.

“What’s wrong?” His voice was pitched low for privacy, and it was hard to repress the shivers the intimate tone elicited. “Been a long day?”

She attempted what she hoped was a stalwart smile. “They’re all long when you don’t sleep very well.”

But her hope to diffuse his questions failed miserably. A frown pulled his brows together, and his arm came to rest on the back of her chair as he leaned closer, his eyes scrutinizing every detail of her. “Nothing’s wrong, is there?”

“No, just…” _Tell him. He’ll understand._ But the words choked in her throat. “…the reason I need to get home,” she finished.

Though the lines in his forehead smoothed, his features remained serious, a new tension in his tight body. “Listen. It’s probably none of my business, and I’m likely putting my foot in it by asking now, but is there someone else? Is that why you just wanted to be friends?”

To her, the possibility was ridiculous, but the worry was there in his every word. She had to reassure him, as much as she needed him to understand the fault rested directly with her.

“There’s no one else,” she said quietly. “I still live at home. With my father.”

While her response eased some of the pinching of his mouth, his gaze continued to bore into her, searching for the answers she hadn’t provided. “There’s more, though. If you’re not sleeping, there must be a reason.”

A few simple words would resolve this, once and for all, especially with the weight of his arm against the back of her seat pressing into her shoulders. It was an artificial support she wished keenly she could take, but she didn’t know how, and more importantly, wasn’t sure she could inflict that sort of responsibility on someone who barely knew her.

“He’s the reason I was at the hospital on Monday,” she explained. 

Soft understanding dawned in his eyes. He might not know the specifics, but he was astute enough to fill in the blanks, at least with broad strokes. His arm shifted and withdrew, and she missed its presence until the back of his knuckles skimmed along her cheek, delicate and oddly tender. 

“Thank you for telling me,” he murmured.

She didn’t know what he had to be grateful for, but nodded anyway. “I can still help you with your research now, though. I’m alert enough for that.”

“No. It can wait.” He glanced at her mouth once, then cleared his throat and sat back. She missed him straight off, from the smell of his cologne to the added fire he’d stoked beneath her skin. “Do you work tomorrow?”

“In the morning.”

“Damn. I don’t get off until three.”

She wasn’t sure if that was a hint for anything or not. “I can tell the afternoon shift that you need some help. I’m sure they wouldn’t mind.”

“I’d really rather hoped I could work with you on this.”

Though she flushed in mild embarrassment, Gwen found the strength to rise and gesture toward her desk. “Let me give you my schedule, then. You can decide when it works best for you to come in.”

He followed her over, leaning against the counter as she carefully wrote out her shifts. When he took the paper from her, he gave it a quick scan. “You have Monday afternoon off again?”

“I have every Monday afternoon off.”

“Because of trips to the hospital?”

Slowly, she nodded. Let him make of that what he would.

Pulling out his wallet, he tucked it inside with a smile. “My timing will be perfect now. Thank you.”

Watching him walk away didn’t depress her like it usually did. It created the odd feeling of hopeful expectation, an emotion almost as foreign as the deeper flutter his mere presence was starting to stir. 

She could quite get used to that.

If she let herself.

* * *

The message took Arthur by surprise.

“Are you sure this is right?” He’d spent twenty minutes tracking down the nurse who’d taken the call. Once he found her, she frowned up at him, annoyed at being interrupted.

“I wrote down exactly what she said. If it’s not for you—”

“No, no, it’s for me.” He just couldn’t believe his luck.

_Ring re: Monday afternoon. Hope you don’t have to work. Gwen._

On the hope she wanted to meet up again, he rescheduled the last two appointments he had for Monday before calling her back. The number she’d left went to voice mail. As excited as he was, he hoped the message he left when he got home sounded coherent.

“Got your message, and yeah, I’m free. Did you want to meet up at the hospital? Or the newsagent. Anywhere, really, just say the word. Oh, unless you didn’t want to meet up, in which case, I sound like a right prat thinking that you would. Right. Well, if it’s something else, forget everything I said at the start and just ring me. Well, ring me anyway, so I know. See you later.”

Merlin frowned at him when he disconnected. “You really do like this girl.”

“I told you I did. You didn’t believe me?”

“Well, there’s varying degrees. This is further up on the scale than I expected.”

“And that’s bad, I suppose.”

“No. Just…interesting.”

Arthur didn’t press. He didn’t care about Merlin’s assessment of his love life – or in Gwen’s case, the lack thereof – and he especially didn’t want her privacy invaded just because Merlin’s curiosity got the better of him. If Merlin wanted to discount his interest in Gwen, that was his problem, not Arthur’s.

The evening dragged. He tried watching telly, but everything airing was crap for keeping his attention away from his phone, which rested in arm’s reach on the thick armrest of the couch. Merlin didn’t help. He kept chattering, no matter what program was on. Normally, Arthur could engage with him, either to play along or to mock Merlin mercilessly, but not tonight. The one thing he wanted seemed to be the one thing denied him.

Then, at ten-ten, his phone rang.

His elbow jerked into Merlin’s side when he jumped. Merlin’s “Ow!” was forgotten as Arthur picked up his phone, and saw the unknown number flashing across the screen.

“I’ll take this in the bedroom,” he said, rising to his feet.

“Safer for both of us that way,” Merlin muttered as he rubbed his arm.

The third ring cut off when Arthur connected to the call. “Hello?” he said, trying to sound casual.

“Arthur?”

Gwen’s hesitant voice was like a drug, turning his muscles to water. Closing his door, he sagged against it, a smile coming to his lips. “I was starting to wonder if I would hear from you tonight.”

“I’m sorry. This is the first chance I’ve had.”

“I didn’t know the library was open this late on Sundays.”

“It’s not.” She paused. “It wasn’t a good day for my dad.”

“Oh.” Now he felt like a jerk for being so impatient. “Listen, if you need to see to him—”

“No, no, he’s asleep now. I’ve got as long as I want.”

“Shouldn’t you try to get some sleep?” He couldn’t believe the words were actually coming out of his mouth after all the waiting he’d had to endure. But the vision of her nearly falling asleep at the table next to him on Friday came into sharp focus with the sound of her voice, and he was the most selfish bastard on the face of the planet for wanting to keep her away from a decent night’s rest. “Just clear up what you need from me tomorrow, and then you can go.”

“I…I thought maybe we could do something again. Nothing fancy, we could just hang out at the pub, even. It’ll help.”

“Help what?”

“Me forget I’m not at the hospital with him.”

Her voice broke a little with the confession. Arthur’s heart broke a little hearing it.

“Why does he have to go back so soon?”

His query was the most direct he’d been, but if the hospital visits were causing Gwen so much pain, he could help better if he knew more about them. He had inside knowledge of how things worked there. Perhaps he could offer something she hadn’t considered as a result.

But Gwen remained silent, making him wonder if he’d gone a step too far. He was about to backtrack and hastily agree to her plan, when her soft breath filled the line, a tenuous connection he needed more than he’d realized.

“Chemotherapy.” She almost whispered the word. “He has pancreatic cancer.”

“Oh, Gwen…” So much more made sense now. He didn’t know much about oncology, but he knew enough to know how dire the prognosis really was. There was no telling how long Gwen had been grappling with this, though if her father was still being treated, at least there was still hope. “Of course, we can meet at the pub. Whatever you need from me.”

“That’ll do.”

“Go and sleep now,” he coaxed. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“You don’t have to go.”

“I do if I expect you to get a decent night.”

“Whether you stay or go won’t make a difference with that. I’m going to ring Dr. Gaius in the morning and see if he can prescribe me something to help. “

Dr. Gaius was one of the hospital’s best physicians. Arthur was mildly relieved to hear Mr. DeGrance was under such high quality care. What he wasn’t glad to hear was Gwen resorting to medication just to sleep.

“Would you be willing to try something else first?” he asked.

“At this point, I’d be willing to try anything.”

“This requires you meeting with me tonight.”

“Tonight? It’s too late, don’t you think?”

“Not if it helps you. Can you?”

“I really shouldn’t leave the house.” She sounded genuinely sorry. “I need to be here if Dad needs help.”

“Then, I’ll come to you.” With newfound energy, he yanked open the door and headed out to the kitchen. Merlin looked away from the TV and tracked Arthur’s beeline for their message pad. “Give me your address, Gwen.”

“Why do you need to see me?”

“I’m a physiotherapist, remember? That means I’m very good at my hands.” He finally found a pen buried beneath the stack of takeaway menus, and poised it over the pad. “What’ve you got to lose? At the very least, you’ll get a good massage out of it. That can’t be bad, can it?”

Though she was slow to answer, the address did come, haltingly, quietly. She ended with, “You really don’t have to do this, Arthur.”

He smiled, though she couldn’t see it. “Yes. I do.”

“She all right?” Merlin asked after Arthur had disconnected.

“Hopefully, she will be.” Grabbing his jacket and keys, Arthur half-jogged out of the flat. The sooner he got to Gwen’s, the happier he would be.


	5. Chapter 5

What on earth was she doing?

Going mad if she honestly believed she could stop from embarrassing herself in front of Arthur. A massage required touching. His hands, plus her body, equaled disaster waiting to happen. She wanted him at long distances. With no distance at all, she was likely to combust.

The smart thing would be to call and tell him to turn around. It wasn’t going to work anyway. She’d tried other relaxation techniques the past two nights to no avail. Massage would be the same bust, especially one of Arthur’s.

But hearing his message had lifted her spirits more than anything else did these days. And he’d seemed so honestly sorry when she’d told him the truth about Tom. She wanted more of that, of the strength he offered without even realizing it, of him. If he was willing to offer, why shouldn’t she at least try?

Headlights flashed at the edges of the closed curtains a second before the gravel crunched in the drive. Her breath caught, and she stared at the front door as she wiped her damp palms on her jeans. She remained rooted in her spot until she realized the bell might wake Tom.

She couldn’t let that happen.

Gwen yanked the door open to see Arthur coming around the boot of his car. He smiled when their eyes met, and her doubts about whether or not he should be there fled.

“Hi,” she said softly, returning his smile.

When he stopped in front of her, the first thing he did was tuck a loose curl behind her ear. “Please don’t tell me the porch welcome means you’re sending me packing.”

“I’m not.” _I don’t think I could._ “I didn’t want to risk waking Dad up with the doorbell.”

He glanced past her. “Will my being here disturb him?”

“I don’t know. I hope not.” Because the last thing she wanted was for him to go.

“But you’re willing to risk it for some sleep. Good.” He edged forward, giving her no choice but to allow him to enter. “You shouldn’t neglect your own needs while you take care of his, Gwen. You’re not doing either one of you any favors that way.”

“It’s not like I’m deliberately staying up all night,” she countered a little sharply. 

“Oh, I know.” He said it easily, as if he hadn’t even noticed the slight bit of censure in her tone. He stood in the middle of the lounge, surveying its layout as he shrugged out of his coat and tossed it into the chair. “Did you want to try this in here, or somewhere else? I can probably kneel on the floor next to the couch if that’s what you prefer.”

“Actually—”

His gaze snapped back to her. “You’re not changing your mind.”

“No, but…perhaps we could just sit and talk first? It would distract me, I think.”

“From what?”

_From how good you’re likely to feel._ “I’ve never had a proper massage before.”

“They don’t hurt. Well, deep tissue ones can be a little painful, but that’s worth it. But this would just be a normal massage.” He held his hand out to her, fingers open, palm up. “Don’t be nervous.”

Except she was. The flutters in the pit of her stomach had become increasingly stronger, and she was sure that if she took his hand, hers would be shaking. She must have looked like a deer caught in headlights, because after a moment, he took the few steps necessary to take the choice away from her.

His broad fingers curled around hers, squeezing once before gently leading her to the couch. Gwen held her breath until he prodded her to sit down, and then blinked up at him when he suddenly took her glasses off.

“I can’t see without those,” she said.

“Your eyes are supposed to be closed anyway.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t do this.”

He sat down next to her, not at the other end of the couch, but right next, his thigh against hers, his weight sinking into the cushion and forcing her to compensate or tilt into him. One arm went across the back, and though his features were blurry, she could still see that he had fixed his intense gaze directly on her.

“You worry too much,” he said.

She waited for the punch line, but it didn’t come. “I have a lot to worry about, remember?”

“Oh, I remember. And I’m not talking about your father. I thought we were getting on well now, but sometimes, I think you’d rather we didn’t.”

“I just…” She searched for any answer that didn’t make her sound completely pathetic. The truth was out of the question. Perhaps he really was a nice guy and wouldn’t tease her about her previous crush, but the words tangled her tongue. “I just don’t know you very well,” she finally said, which he couldn’t actually deny. “I don’t have many friends. Well, not here.”

“Here?”

“Here.” She gestured around them. “Real life. I have a fair number of online friends, but that’s different.”

“Why?”

Was he serious? “Because there, you have time to think of the best answer. You can be funny, or flirty, or smart.”

“But you _are_ smart.”

“But I’m not the other things.”

“Says who?”

“Says a lot of people.”

“I didn’t.”

She sighed. She couldn’t argue with that. “No, you didn’t.”

“Would knowing me better make this easier for you? I’m ready to do whatever it takes, Gwen.”

It was her turn to ask, “Why?”

His hand lifted, but rather than toy with her hair, he touched her cheek, his thumb stretching to skim over her lower lip. Her breath caught at the tender touch, and her lips parted even more, but he didn’t pull away. “Because you’re absolutely lovely, that’s why,” he murmured. “Because I find myself wondering how long before I can go to the library again, just on the off-chance I’ll get to see you, get to chat with you. Because your freckles are bloody adorable, and when you smile at me, I know you mean it.”

Her brain had tripped on his description of her as _lovely_ , then never recovered as he added even more praise to it. “Okay,” she breathed. “Let’s get to know you better.”

She thought he smiled, though he was a little too blurry for her to be sure. The arm behind her rested on her shoulders, and he eased her back, pulling her into his side until she had no choice but to rest her cheek against his shoulder. “Let’s start with the basics, then.” He seemed completely oblivious to how much her mind was awhirl at the heat and hardness of his body she couldn’t ignore. Solidity like she’d never known. Or maybe he did know and was forcing her to deal with her fears. The latter was far more likely. “You already know I’m a physio at the hospital, so that’s done. I’ve lived here most of my life, went to uni in London, came back here once I was chartered.”

“Because your family’s here?”

His hand started absently stroking up and down her arm, as oddly hypnotic as the deep lull of his voice. “Well, family’s just me and my father, and technically, he still lives around here, but no, that wasn’t the reason. My best mate wanted to move back here after we graduated, and I couldn’t imagine living somewhere I couldn’t see him any time I wanted.”

“And are you two still friends?”

“No. We’re flatmates.”

She smiled at that. “And is he as upfront as you are?”

“More. But only to me. Everyone else seems to think he’s this nice, easygoing bloke.”

“Isn’t he?”

“Oh, I sup _pose_.” 

His fake stressing made her laugh this time, and she closed her eyes, comfortable enough at last to relax for that. “I’ll have to meet him sometime.”

“Only if you promise not to fall for his charms. I won’t have it.”

“Because your charms should be more than enough?”

“Exactly.”

“Yours _are_ very effective.”

The muscles against her cheek shifted, like he was pulling away to look down at her. “Are they?”

“Do you think I invite many men over at all hours of the night?”

“Well, I would hope not.” When he relaxed again, she could’ve sworn she felt something brush against the top of her head. “Just so long as you invite me.”

For long seconds, she simply breathed, each one deeper and slower than the last. Part of it was his scent. If she never got to spend any more time with Arthur, she would forever adore the mix of his cologne with his skin, most likely associating it with exactly this moment, this intoxicating sense of peace that was already spreading through her body like golden syrup.

Part of it was his warmth. He always seemed to run hot, even without his coat on, and he had no compunctions sharing it with her. The circle of his arm didn’t so much lock her in place as it did secure her from slipping away, not a prison but a support. The hand she’d had resting on his hard abdomen slid sideways, curling around his waist to complete the circuit.

Most of it, however, was just Arthur. Loyal, strong, wonderful Arthur.

Funny how she’d been so nervous about a massage, when she was now cuddled into his body like it was the only place she belonged.

“I’m glad you came,” she said softly. “What were you doing when I called?”

“Watching telly with Merlin.”

“Anything good?”

“I don’t remember.”

She smiled against his chest. “Probably not then.”

“No.” He sounded as amused as she was. “Probably not.”

More time spent in silence, where he seemed perfectly content to just hold her. The mesmerizing strokes up and down her arm slowed, though they didn’t stop, and occasionally, his dry fingertips tickled across the back of her hand.

“You know what I just realized?” she said.

“What?”

“I still don’t know what your research is all about.”

“Oh.” His body shifted. The legs next to her stretched out. “History.”

“I know that, silly. Can you narrow it down a bit?”

He took a long pause to answer. “The bards in medieval history who declined their exemption from military service.”

“You’re joking.”

“About this? Never.”

“That’s…not what I’d think a physio would do in his spare time. Especially one that looks like you.”

“What did you think it was?”

She squirmed a little, embarrassed. “Something mundane, actually. Like…World War II airfare.”

“Nice to know you think I’m mundane.” His tone was matter-of-fact, but she’d learned enough about how he teased by now to recognize it when she heard it.

“No,” she almost whispered. “You’re a complete and utter surprise. You’re an idealist trapped inside a practical exterior.”

“Is that good or bad?”

“Good. Definitely good.”

“My turn for a question.”

She meant to brace herself – after all, he could ask just about anything – but the urge to do so never appeared. “Okay.”

“What’s your favorite color?”

“That’s it? That’s hardly significant.”

“It is if I don’t know it.”

“Oh.” That logic was hard to dispute. “Yellow, then. What’s yours?”

“Red.”

“Now _that’s_ not a surprise.”

“I’m becoming predictable already? Damn.”

The drifting was coming back, mindless floating where nothing could harm her, nothing could frighten her. “I don’t think you could ever be predictable.” Her voice was so faint, she could barely hear it herself. Beneath her cheek, the solid thumping of his heart nearly drowned it out. “You astonish me every time I see you.”

When Arthur spoke, his voice seemed huskier than normal, though that could have completely been a trick of her exhausted mind. “Then I’ll keep my fingers crossed this is one of the first of many.”

She only found the wherewithal to murmur three more words before sleep overtook her.

“So will I.”


	6. Chapter 6

Arthur woke to a soft, warm body, pressing him down into the cushion, enveloping his senses to the exclusion of everything else. His arms tightened, summoning an even closer connection, and the body – female, oh so _very_ female – complied, her wisps of breath fluttering along his neck. His erection had everything to do with her, and her pliant curves, and the rise and fall of her breasts against his chest, rather than his normal morning reaction. More contact would be great, but he was too comfortable to alter either of their positions.

He settled for kissing her temple. A curl tickled the corner of his mouth.

_Gwen._

Now he remembered where he was. Gwen’s couch, here at his request, here for her need. The massage that never happened. Holding her because she’d just been so anxious, like a bird poised for flight. Feeling her let go, minute by minute, word by word, breath by breath. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep, too, but after she’d drifted off, he hadn’t wanted to risk waking her by moving.

At some point in the night, they’d stretched out along the couch’s length. She fit against him even better than he’d ever imagined, like she had been made for him by some celestial sculptor.

Someone cleared his throat. It wasn’t Arthur. Or Gwen.

Arthur’s eyes opened to see a man standing at the mouth of the hall. He was older, somewhere around fifty, with a shrewd gaze like Gwen’s and sleep creases on one side of his worn face. Shadows haunted the hollows beneath his eyes. Arthur had seen enough sickness to recognize the signs, and knew then who it was.

“Is she soundo?”

As low as her father’s voice was, Arthur didn’t dare speaking. He nodded instead.

“I’m putting the kettle on,” he said, jerking his thumb toward the kitchen. “You’re welcome to join me.”

Another nod, and her father left them alone. It might have been phrased as a voluntary invitation, but he owed the man enough respect to accept. This was his home, after all. He deserved to know who had spent the night on his couch.

Getting away from Gwen was easier said than done, though. Every time she made a sound or shifted, he froze and waited for her to quiet before trying again. Back and forth, inching away and growing colder by the second. By the time he made it to the kitchen, his arousal was completely gone, and her father was pouring steaming water into a faded floral teapot.

When their eyes met, her father set down the kettle and held a hand out in greeting. “Tom DeGrance.”

The grip was warm and not too loose. Tom still had some strength left, a good sign for Gwen. “Arthur Pendragon.”

Still no anger in his countenance. He merely seemed curious, especially when he asked, “How do you know my Gwen?”

“The library.”

“You work there?”

“No, she’s helping me with some research, actually.”

A proud smile spread across Tom’s face. “Ah. She’s brilliant at that.”

“She’s just brilliant, period.”

“You don’t have to tell me.”

He had to grin in response. “No, I guess I don’t.”

Tom turned to the cupboard and removed two cups. “How’d you get her to sleep?”

“We were just talking. I didn’t have the heart to move her after that. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to spend the whole night.”

“That’s all right. Gwen’s a big girl. And if she trusts you enough to invite you over, that’s good enough for me.” He gestured toward the refrigerator. “Can you get the milk out, please? In the door.”

They worked in tandem until they sat at the small table against the wall with twin mugs of tea. Arthur sipped at his too soon, burning his tongue, but too uncomfortable under Tom’s quiet scrutiny to keep still. He didn’t normally have problems with authority figures – outside of his father these days, he was actually quite good with them – but this felt too important to muck up. Gwen valued her relationship with Tom above anything else in her life. 

“Why _did_ she call you over?” Tom asked. “I didn’t hear a thing after I went to bed.”

“We were finalizing what we were going to do this afternoon.” That seemed safe enough to admit.

“This afternoon?” The way he brightened changed his entire face. “You’re going out?”

“Yeah. We just went to the pub last week, but—”

“So you’re the one she spent it with. I thought—well, doesn’t matter.” His head bobbed up and down in approval. “Take her someplace nice. Make her smile. She—Gwen!”

Tom rose, and Arthur twisted, to see Gwen hovering in the doorway. Her hair was a riot of curls, and her sleepy eyes slow to take them in. She kept blinking behind her glasses, as if the scene in front of her would change. With her rumpled clothes and soft mouth, she appeared younger than usual, more vulnerable than Arthur had ever witnessed before.

_She’s not just lovely. She’s bloody beautiful._

“Go back to bed,” Tom was saying. “There’s no reason for you to be up yet.”

“What are you doing?” Whether she was asking Tom or him, Arthur had no idea.

“Just having a cup of tea with Arthur here,” Tom said, taking away the possibility of responding to her. He settled a hand in the small of her back and pushed her toward the table. “Sit, sit. I’ll pour you one, too.”

She protested the guidance by twisting away and resting a hand on his arm. “Don’t fuss. I’ll get it.”

Tom frowned, and his jaw hardened in defiance. “I’m not dead yet. I can still serve a guest in my home. Sit.”

His tone brooked no more resistance, and she slid into the third seat like a child chastised. Arthur couldn’t blame Tom for wanting to do for himself, but the look of rejection on Gwen’s face was harder to bear.

He reached beneath the table and caught her hand with his. She tensed, prompting him to squeeze her fingers in reassurance. “How’d you sleep?” he asked.

Her wide eyes fixed on him for several seconds, unfocused and unsure. He squeezed again, hoping she would take the hint and relax, and smiled when she finally nodded.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I didn’t mean—”

“Don’t apologize. It was the whole point, wasn’t it? And before you even try to argue with me, I had a fantastic night. I wouldn’t have changed a thing.”

When she ducked her head in embarrassment, hiding a little smile, Arthur leaned back in his chair, satisfied he’d done what he could. 

Tom set a third cup in front of Gwen and sat down. “Arthur here was telling me how you two were making plans for today. What did you settle on?”

Gwen’s eyes darted between them before returning to Tom. “Probably just the pub again. It’s right around the corner from the hospital, so I’m close by in case you need me.”

“That can’t be much fun.”

“It’s actually a pretty nice pub,” Arthur interjected, before Gwen had to feel bad about arguing with him again. “Bit of darts, good food. It’s too bad it’s not a Tuesday night, though.”

“Why? What happens on Tuesday?”

“It’s quiz night. That’s always a laugh. We used to have a team from work, but one of the girls had a baby, and we never found someone to take her spot.”

Tom nudged Gwen’s arm playfully. “Gwen got banned from our local quiz.”

“Dad!”

“What? It’s true, isn’t it?”

Arthur’s laugher rang out. “This, I have to hear.”

“It’s nothing,” Gwen insisted.

“The pub’s owned by the brother of a mate of mine.” Tom didn’t seem to give a whit about his daughter’s protests, his face lit up in merriment. “He always fancied himself smarter than the rest of us. Was even on _Fifteen to One_ , once.”

“Where he got knocked out the second time someone nominated him,” Gwen said.

Tom grinned. “So when he set up his quiz night, he decided to write all the questions himself rather than buy one of those books. Teams played pretty regular. He always had good prizes, since he took it so seriously. And as soon as she was old enough, Gwen joined up on our team.”

“Sounds like a smart choice to me,” Arthur said. “So what did she do that got her in trouble?”

“Well, first night she played, we were doing a bit of all right for the first round. When we got around to scoring the second, though, some of the answers Gwen gave us turned out to be wrong.”

“It wasn’t my answers!” Gwen burst out. “Lester’s questions were too bloody ambiguous.”

Her eyes sparkled in angry defiance, and Arthur tried not to laugh at how vehement she was about it. “Let me guess,” he said. “She called him out on them.”

“She stopped the whole quiz,” Tom confirmed. “She spent forty-five minutes arguing with Les about why our answers were just as valid as his, and he still refused to give us the points.”

Gwen rolled her eyes. “The man’s an idiot. It was about time somebody told him to his face.”

“And that’s why you haven’t been allowed back.” Tom patted her hand. “That’s all right. I knew you were right. And I’ll bet Arthur here would’ve had your back, too.”

The unexpected affirmation from Tom pleased Arthur, though Gwen still looked a little uncomfortable. “Well, I’d be more than honored to have her on our team,” Arthur said.

“I can’t,” she said. “I have to work tomorrow night.”

“You can ask for next Tuesday off, though, right?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

“It’ll take me that long to let everybody know we’re back on. And give them time to make arrangements if they need to.”

“See?” Tom beamed. “All settled then.”

“Are you sure?” She directed the query to Arthur, uncertainty tightening the corners of her mouth. “What about your research? You usually do that in your free time, don’t you?”

She was reaching for straws, but he wasn’t going to let her off the hook. “It’s worth the trade. But I’ll promise not to tell anyone I’ve got a secret weapon.”

Her lips pursed even more, and he knew she wasn’t pleased. He might have taken it back if they hadn’t spent such a great night together. They had come too far to let her slide their relationship into reverse, though.

He downed the rest of his tea and pushed back from the table. “I should head out. I still have a couple patients this morning, and I need to run home first before I go into work.”

Gwen leapt to her feet. “I’ll walk you out.”

Rather than let her drag him from the kitchen, Arthur held his hand out to Tom. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. DeGrance.”

“Same here. And call me Tom.”

Gwen was silent all the way to the lounge, where Arthur retrieved his discarded coat. “If you have patients today—”

“Just this morning,” he assured her. “How about we meet up at the pub? Same time as last week.”

She paused, then nodded. “All right.” She followed him to the door as he shrugged it on, but as he reached for the handle, touched his arm. “Arthur?”

Her soft face was turned up to his when he met her gaze. “Yeah?”

“Thank you. For last night. I…haven’t slept that well since I found out.”

_About my dad’s illness_ went unsaid, but he understood. He understood far more than he thought she gave him credit for.

“I’m glad I could help.” He glanced at her mouth, and then forced himself to look away. He desperately wanted to kiss her, just one taste, anything to satisfy the momentary desire, perhaps to sustain him until he could see her again, but she wasn’t ready, and he wasn’t sure he’d even be able to stop. He had to wait, until he didn’t have to worry about either condition.

He chose, instead, to brush away the curl that constantly fell against her cheek. It allowed him to graze his fingertips across her sleep-warm skin, and see the way her pupils dilated at the slight contact. Her head even tilted toward his hand, a movement so minute he didn’t think she was likely aware of it. Her responsiveness to such simple gestures offered silent promises of how she would react to more purposeful touches. He had to drop his hand and step through the door before he decided to take her up on them.

“I’ll see you this afternoon.”

Which wouldn’t come fast enough.


	7. Chapter 7

Tom wasn’t alone when Gwen returned to the hospital to pick him up. The calming effect of spending the past couple hours with Arthur rebounded at the sight of Dr. Gaius, her pulse leaping as her steps faltered on the lobby’s threshold. Though the pair sat at the edge of the café with their cups of tea, smiling over some unheard story, she couldn’t help but think this hadn’t happened before, not after the first chemo session and certainly not after Tom’s appointments.

_Is something wrong? Does he need to talk about me? Oh, god, what if it’s more bad news?_

The lemon and lime she’d had at the pub turned to acid in her stomach. It burned the back of her throat and surged through her veins to try and spur her to run. She didn’t want to hear what he had to say. She didn’t want to face inevitabilities, no matter how grown-up that supposedly made her.

When Tom noticed her standing there, however, it was too late to do anything but return his wave and wend her way to them. Dr. Gaius stood as she approached, the object of old world gentility, and she smiled at him as she accepted the chair he pulled out for her.

“I didn’t expect to see you today,” she said.

“I thought that since we haven’t talked since before your father’s treatment started, we might be overdue.” He gestured toward their cups. “Would you like me to get you some tea?”

“No, thank you. Is everything okay? Nothing happened today, did it?”

“Oh, no, no,” Dr. Gaius assured. “Today was purely routine.”

“So no signs of improvement?”

“It’s too early to tell. He needs to run the full course before we can make a proper assessment.”

In the back of her head, she’d known that. He’d told her before Tom had started, and she’d read it in her research. But in her fear of what could be wrong, it had slipped her mind.

“I was talking to Dr. Gaius about your trouble sleeping.” 

Tom’s quiet statement sent alarm frizzling through Gwen’s body, and she stiffened as she swung her gaze to stare at him in disbelief. “I slept just fine last night.”

“Last night. But last night was different, now wasn’t it?”

Her mouth pinched tight. This wasn’t the time to discuss her relationship with Arthur – whatever it was – and it was unfair of Tom to bring up her difficulties. Yes, she’d been prepared to talk to Dr. Gaius about possibly getting sleeping tablets, but that was her place to bring up, not her father’s. She wasn’t a child for him to coddle, especially if she wasn’t present to defend herself and best explain the situation.

“I’m _fine_.” She tried to smile at Dr. Gaius. She wasn’t sure how well she succeeded. “He’s such a worrywart.”

“It’s not that unusual,” Dr. Gaius said. “Dealing with a difficult illness. The stress involved. If you don’t mind, I’d like to refer you to one of my colleagues. She deals with people in your situation, helping them learn how to cope with the changes. She’s very good.”

A therapist. He wanted her to see a _therapist_. Gwen had to blink more than once to let it sink in. Worse than that, her father had thought it was a good idea if Dr. Gaius was here to suggest it. He thought she was too weak to deal with this on her own, or didn’t like how she was managing it.

_Nothing’s wrong with me. I’m not the one who’s dying here._

Shame flooded through her as soon as she recognized the faithless thoughts. But she couldn’t take them back, and in that particular moment, she couldn’t deny them, not like she usually could.

Her silence became uncomfortable, and Dr. Gaius twirled his wooden stirrer inside his cup. “There’s nothing wrong with needing a little help, Gwen.” His voice was gentle, but where she usually liked how good his tone was at smoothing ruffled feathers, now it grated, because damn it, she was not his patient, and he had no right to be so condescending about it. “And I thought you’d prefer individual sessions with Dr. Carlyle rather than her group sessions. I know how you value your privacy.”

Obviously not enough to know how much she’d hate the idea of a therapist at all. “I would prefer that, yes,” she managed to bite out.

Tom grinned, oblivious to her discomfort. Apparently, her single concession was all he needed to believe she was on board with the idea. “I’ve got all the details. You can ring her when we get home.”

“Right.” She pulled her purse tight against her body and rose. “Speaking of which, we should get going, Dad. I’ve got to run to the library tonight to help Geoffrey with some inventory.” A lie. A whopper. But she couldn’t sit there any longer and face the unwanted pity.

“Oh, sorry about that. I didn’t realize.” He stood, but much more slowly than Gwen, and held his hand out to Dr. Gaius to say goodbye. “See you next week.”

Dr. Gaius nodded, though his kind eyes slid to Gwen. “If you need anything, just give my office a ring.”

With a brisk nod, she turned on her heel and headed for the doors, for a change not waiting for Tom to keep up. She was able to keep her head all the way to the car, though when he slammed the door after sliding in, her last nerve snapped.

“A therapist? Really? Are you completely mad?”

Tom recoiled slightly at her outburst, his gaze confused and more than a little wounded. “She’s just someone to talk to, Gwen. I know this hasn’t been easy for you.”

“I’m doing fine.”

“You’re not. You’re hardly sleeping.”

“I slept last night, didn’t I?”

“Only because Arthur was there. Are you planning on him sleeping over every time you have a spot of trouble?”

She blushed and looked straight ahead, staring out the windshield but not seeing anything but Arthur’s smile when she’d walked into the kitchen that morning, the way his blond hair was stuck up at all odd angles from how he’d slept. She would hardly argue against such an arrangement, even though she knew it was entirely impractical. No dreams, no nightmares, maybe a crick in her neck but completely worth it, even when she’d had to sit through Tom’s millionth retelling of the quiz story.

And also not the point. Because Tom was right. On this matter at least.

“I can’t believe you told Dr. Gaius.” A different tactic was her only option. “I haven’t told everyone about you.”

“Arthur knows.”

“Arthur’s different. And I only just told him last night.”

“You told him because you trust him. Like I trust Dr. Gaius.”

“Except Arthur’s not my doctor. It’s hardly the same thing, Dad.”

“But what harm would it do you?” he cajoled. “I know this has been rough, Gwen. You think I can’t see? You think it doesn’t hurt me knowing how hard it’s been for you, or how hard it could still get? The last thing I want in this world is to cause you any kind of pain, and that’s all I’ve done since I got my diagnosis. I hate that. I hate that more than this bloody disease. And if Dr. Gaius says talking to someone helps in even a small way, you can damn well believe I’m going to want you to do it.”

Tears burned the back of her eyes as he spoke, threatening to spill over as he spat out his disgust for the cancer. They rarely talked about it. Not even when it came to his symptoms or treatment. It was always about addressing the moment, her _You need anything, Dad?_ or his _Be a luv and get me a glass of water, would you?_ , never this, never anything even hinting at how rough the road might be ahead. That was the way they had always been, and until now, that was how they had continued on. Like nothing had changed.

But everything had. Her life, Tom’s, even Arthur’s in a way if she counted their new interactions. And as appalled as she was at the notion of unloading her so-called problems on an outside party, she could even understand Tom’s motivation in the suggestion.

“Give me her number.” Without looking at him, she held out her hand, trying not to wince when he pressed the business card into her palm. “I’m not making promises. I can’t. But…I’ll think about it.” 

She didn’t for a second believe she would ever be in a place where she’d ring the therapist, but if it gave Tom some peace of mind to know she would consider it, then it was the least she could do.

* * *

She had no idea where to go.

Supper had been a tense affair, with both of them choosing their words carefully, their topics of conversation even more so. Neither wanted to disrupt the tenuous balance that had been struck on the ride home. They returned to their evasive dance, where any subject but those that actually meant anything could be discussed.

She felt like screaming by the time she announced she was off to the library, her lie that she wished fervently had been true. Because then she would have work to do, something to keep her mind off how fragile Tom and Dr. Gaius must consider her, something to diffuse her anger and frustration. She couldn’t go in anyway. Geoffrey would ask questions. But she was at a loss what other options she had.

Well. She knew of one. But she’d only left Arthur a few hours earlier. And she didn’t want to abuse his friendship, or overstay her welcome by calling him already.

The problem with that was…nobody else knew about Tom’s cancer. Anyone else would ask questions she didn’t want to have to answer.

_I’ll just ring. Maybe just talking to him will help, like it did last night._

His number was now programmed into her phone, a bold move that had secretly thrilled her when she’d done it on Sunday, listening to his voicemail. She took a deep breath as she listened to it ring, but when the other end picked up, and a male voice she didn’t recognize answered, she froze.

Several seconds ticked by.

“Hello?” the man repeated.

_Stop being such a ninny._

“May I speak to Arthur, please?”

“He’s run out for a sec. Can I take a message?”

She squeezed her eyes shut. Maybe it was for the better. “Can you tell him Gwen called? He doesn’t have to ring me back. I just…he just…just tell him I rang.”

“He really will be back soon,” the man insisted. “Are you sure you don’t want me to tell him anything else? He’ll kick himself for missing your call.”

Though she warmed a little at the confirmation he would have appreciated her call, Gwen said, “No, no, that’s not necessary. I just had some free time this evening and thought he might not mind some company for a bit.” Then, on a whim, “Is this Merlin?” Because who else would be answering Arthur’s home number but his roommate?

“Yeah.” He laughed. “Guess he’s mentioned me, huh?”

She liked the sound of his friendly voice. There was something relaxing about it, something that put her straight at ease. “Once or twice. I guess he’s mentioned me, too, then?”

“I thought he was going to explode last night, waiting for you to call back. Listen. If you’re looking for something to do, why don’t you come on over? He just ran out to pick up some fish and chips, and then he’ll probably insist we put on some rubbish war flick. If you’re here, you’ll save me from the torture. I can finally outvote him.”

There was no way not to laugh. “Well, when you put it like that…” She grabbed her purse and fumbled around inside for a pen. “What’s the address?”

The flat was not far from the hospital, and somehow, she only got turned around once. She had to hunt around for a parking spot, but as she approached the front of the building, she spotted a lanky, dark-haired young man leaning against the wall.

“Are you Gwen?” he asked, straightening.

“Yeah. Merlin?”

“The one and only.” A key appeared out of nowhere, and he unlocked the front door to hold it open for her. “You beat Arthur back. He must’ve got caught up talking to Ian.”

“Ian?”

“The chippy. Nice bloke, but he’s always trying to pump Arthur for medical advice. And you know Arthur. He’s got a hard time telling anyone no.”

She quieted at that, following him without another word up the stairs. Did that mean he was just being nice to Gwen, too? Was this what he did, finding someone who needed help and then giving it until he wasn’t necessary anymore?

_I don’t want to use Arthur. What am I doing here?_

Merlin didn’t stop talking the entire way to the flat, though she was too lost in her thoughts to hear any of it. She returned his smile when he gestured for her to enter first, but she wasn’t entirely relaxed, too anxious now that Arthur’s motivations weren’t as good for him as they were for her.

“You want something to drink while we wait for Arthur to get back?” Merlin didn’t stop, heading straight for their tiny kitchen. “We’ve got some Sam Adams, apple juice, lemonade, water…”

“Water’s fine.” Though the beer was tempting. “How long have you and Arthur been friends?”

“Since year three. But we weren’t friends first. I thought he was a bit of a prat, and he thought I was a wimp.”

“So what changed?”

Merlin emerged from the kitchen with two bottled waters and a huge grin. “Our teacher teamed us up for a school project. We spent so much time together working on that, we kind of forgot we didn’t like each other.”

The image of a young Arthur, with his blond hair shining in the sun, and Merlin, with his big ears and innocent smile, dispelled some of her mood. “Too bad we didn’t go to the same schools. You two sound like a handful.”

“Arthur’s the handful. I’m the easy one.”

Distant whistling distracted Merlin when he handed over the bottle, and they both turned toward the door as it opened. Arthur came through and then stopped when he spotted Gwen on the couch, his brows going up in pleased surprise.

“Didn’t I just see you?” he teased.

“I fancied some time out of the house.” She stood when he passed off the food to Merlin and approached. Before she could stop him, he’d swooped in and brushed a hello kiss across her cheek. Her cheeks heated even as she scolded herself it was just polite. “Merlin told me where you lived.”

“Want some?” Merlin asked, holding up the bag.

She shook her head. “I already ate, thank you.”

He shrugged, then ambled off, leaving her and Arthur alone.

“What did I do to deserve seeing you three times in one day?” Arthur asked playfully. “Just so I know how to repeat it for future reference.”

Gwen gnawed on the inside of her cheek. “Can we not talk about it?”

His smile vanished, and he stepped closer, cupping her elbow to keep her from running away. “What happened?”

She shook her head. “No, I just want a night in with mates. Something normal. Fun. Please?”

He regarded her before nodding. “Of course. Whatever you want.” The smile returned, a softer version than before. “I’m just glad you’re here.”

Merlin came out then, with two plates laden with food. Arthur took the seat at the end of the couch, while Merlin sat at the other, leaving Gwen in between. The pair immediately started bickering about what movie they’d put on, and the sheer commonness of the scenario finished what Merlin’s laughter had started. She sank into the back of the couch and met the hard line of Arthur’s arm along her shoulders.

He propped the plate on his knee, and though he never actually offered, she knew he placed it there for her to help herself. After much back and forth, Merlin’s choice finally won out.

“One of these days…” Arthur jabbed toward Merlin with a chip. “…I’m going to break you of this bad eighties fixation you have.”

“There’s nothing wrong with _Willow_ , is there, Gwen?”

“It’s a classic.”

Arthur grimaced. “Not you, too.”

“What’s wrong with _Willow_?”

“Nothing,” Merlin said. “Arthur just has rubbish taste in movies.”

“I like things to actually happen.”

“You like things to blow up.”

“It’s escapist.”

Merlin leaned closer to Gwen. “That’s code for brainless.”

Arthur’s sound of annoyed protest – every bit put on, but still delightfully funny – made Gwen laugh. At the same time, she turned into his side, pressing closer. “I know you’re not brainless.” 

It dawned on her a second too late what exactly she’d done, but his body was too enticing to abandon now, his heat too soothing. The way his arm came around her felt anything but pitying, and she wondered as she’d inhaled his familiar, delicious scent if she was reading more into his intentions than was there. Just because her life was in turmoil didn’t necessarily mean Arthur was only there to fix it. He hadn’t even known anything was wrong when he’d chatted her up the first couple times. 

_He called you lovely, remember?_

He hadn’t had to do that.

_Stop thinking so much. That’s what got your head all messed up._

She always had. She talked herself out of things before opportunities even came up.

Arthur wasn’t interested in being her therapist, not like her father wanted for her. He just wanted to be her friend. Probably more, but she had been the one to keep him at arm’s length from the start.

They weren’t at arm’s length now. And she didn’t want to push him away again. She wanted to believe in all the good things she’d been thinking about him for the past week.

To prove to Arthur – and just as much, to herself – she could accept him for how he presented himself and not for some image her traitorous brain conjured, she plucked one of the chips off the plate and held it up to his mouth, poised to feed it to him.

Surprise lit his eyes, but he didn’t hesitate to open his mouth and lean in slightly to take it from Gwen’s fingers. Though his lips only barely brushed her skin, her breath caught, and she stared, transfixed, as he slowly chewed. A grain of salt clung to the corner of his lower lip. Somehow, she dared to catch it on her index finger, and though she wished she was brave enough to have him lick it away, she settled for the safer route and brushed it off on the edge of his plate.

“Do I need to give you two some privacy?” Merlin commented behind her.

Arthur looked to her to answer, his mouth slanting in amusement. She’d come looking for fun, something normal she’d said, and part of her still wanted that. It wanted the camaraderie that centered on living, not on death or illness. It wanted friendship and the freedom to be young and single, like all those other people her age she’d always secretly been jealous of.

The other part that wanted Arthur all to herself – preferably naked – would have to wait when it wasn’t quite so rude to Merlin. After all, he’d been the one to insist on her coming over. And his company, in other ways, filled a hole inside her she hadn’t realized until meeting Arthur – really meeting him, not lusting after the pretty guy from afar – was even there.

Turning so her back was nestled against Arthur’s side, she smiled at Merlin. “Maybe later.”

This time, when she took a chip from Arthur’s plate, she ate it herself.

* * *

Despite Merlin and Arthur’s protests that she was their guest and therefore exempt from responsibilities, Gwen insisted on helping up with the wash and tidying the small mess they’d made of the kitchen over the course of the night. One movie had turned into three, and in between each, the trio had raided the cupboards for snacks to tide them over.

She learned Arthur ate like a horse, that he preferred smoky bacon Walkers to cheese and onion, and found it next to impossible to start eating something new until he was completely done with what he was currently eating. He was surprisingly fussy, too, the first to toss kitchen roll at the others when they sat down. And when Merlin accidentally cut his finger slicing up some cheese, Arthur was the one to put the plaster on, though he mocked Merlin mercilessly the entire time for being such a girl.

Gwen smiled more that night than she had in months. Her face hurt from all the laughter, and she even relaxed enough to join in with Merlin in teasing Arthur’s abysmal taste in movies. She forgot about home, and chemotherapy, and suggestions she might not be strong enough to cope with Tom’s illness on her own. She simply got to be.

It was almost better than falling asleep on Arthur’s chest the night before. A gift of untold proportions. And she didn’t want it to end.

“Well, that’s me done,” Merlin announced. Pulling the drain in the sink, he shook off his hands before snatching the tea towel Arthur was using on the pint glasses to dry them off the rest of the way. “I better get to bed so I’m actually good for something tomorrow.”

“That implies you’re actually good for anything,” Arthur said.

Merlin tossed the towel back into Arthur’s face. “Must be why we get along so well.” He smiled at Gwen and nodded. “Good to finally meet you, Gwen. I’m glad you came over tonight.”

She smiled back. “Me, too. Good night.”

With a little wave, he walked out, leaving her alone in the kitchen that actually felt smaller now that it was just her and Arthur.

When she turned back to finish the drying, strong hands settled on her hips. She squeaked in surprise when her feet left the ground, then did so again when Arthur set her up on the counter. She was left laughing at him as he stepped between her legs, taking the towel from her hands to drop it over the drying rack.

“What’re you doing?” she protested.

He gripped her hips, stopping her wriggling to get down. “I’ve finally got you to myself, and I don’t want you running away on me again.”

Though he held her lightly, the weight of his fingers and palms caged her as effectively as his steady gaze. Her heart began to accelerate, though she prided herself for how calm her voice sounded when she spoke. “I don’t run away. I leave when it’s appropriate.”

“For you, maybe. Not always for me.”

“So the whole world revolves around Arthur Pendragon, is that it?” she said archly.

“Only those times when I’m stopped from getting what I really want,” came his easy reply. “I’m a selfish bastard.”

“You’re not a bastard.”

He chuckled. “But I _am_ selfish, you’re telling me.”

It was impossible not to stare at his mouth when it crooked like that. The sensuality in even such a small thing almost did her in. “No,” she breathed. “You’re not selfish, either.”

“Even though I’m glad you came over tonight?”

“But I am, too. I had fun. And I like Merlin.”

“But not too much.”

“Feeling threatened, are we?”

“Let’s say I’m not interested in losing someone who’s turning out to be completely and utterly enchanting.” He cocked his head. “Though I suppose if you’re going to chuck me out for another bloke, you could do a lot worse than Merlin.”

Slowly, Gwen shook her head. “I’m not interested in Merlin that way.”

“What about me?”

“I don’t know. _Are_ you interested in Merlin that way?”

Another chuckle. “For as much as I might tease him for acting like a girl, he doesn’t quite satisfy the rest of the requirements. Besides…” He lifted his hand and ran a single finger down the bridge of her nose, tickling across her mouth for a moment as his gaze followed the path he took. “…how could I even think of looking at anyone else when you’re right here?”

When he said things like that, she forgot how to breathe. They were words she’d always imagined were said to other girls, the pretty ones, the ones who knew how to wind the boys around their little fingers just by walking past them. Nobody looked twice when Gwen walked by. She lacked the innate ability to know exactly what to say, or how to move in the presence of the opposite sex. Over the years, she convinced herself it was better this way. The kinds of boys who couldn’t recognize what a catch she was were the kinds of boys she wasn’t interested in anyway.

But deep down, in a place only she knew about it, she knew it was a lie. Because just once, _she_ wanted to be the pretty girl for a change.

Arthur made her feel beautiful.

“Do you really think I run away?” she whispered.

“I think…you’re careful.”

“You don’t think I’m scared?”

“Not of me, I hope.” He paused. “Are you?”

She shook her head.

“Good. Because you don’t have reason to be.”

“You could just be being nice to me because of what’s going on with my dad.”

The thought came out unbidden, and when he frowned, she wished she could put a padlock on her mouth. Having doubts was entirely different from voicing them.

“Why do you think that?” he asked slowly.

“Never mind, forget it. I was just—”

“No, you wouldn’t have said it if you didn’t think it. You don’t work that way.”

_Retreat._ Except in this case, it came with an aloof front she invariably affected to try and protect herself. “And you believe you’re such an expert on me?”

His frown deepened. “No, I pay attention to you. That’s all it takes. Gwen, what’s this about? I thought I was making myself pretty clear how I felt.”

Swallowing against the tightness in her throat, she said, “It’s nothing. It’s just…I’d understand if you were. Being nice. Because you are. And Merlin was right—” 

“Merlin? What’s he got to do with this? He knows how mad I am for you.”

The more Arthur said, the more foolish Gwen felt. Her cheeks flamed, and she tried to look away, but Arthur caught her chin and forced her gaze forward. 

“I know you’ve been under a lot of stress lately, so maybe you just can’t see—”

Her temper flared. It sounded too much like Dr. Gaius and his suggestion for a therapist. Perhaps that slight wasn’t as dulled as she’d thought it was. “I’m fine! And I see you, Arthur Pendragon. I see how gorgeous you are, and how much I’m not, and it makes more sense if you—”

The rest was lost, the sudden seal of his mouth over hers silencing her more effectively than anything he might have said. Gwen whimpered when his tongue tickled across her lips, and she opened to him after less than a breath’s hesitation, her arms rising to loop around his shoulders and cling unceremoniously to his offered strength. Arthur answered her acceptance by sliding his hand into her hair, cupping the back of her head, holding her so firmly against him, she could no longer deny how he might want her. The proof of his arousal was there, pressed into the junction of her thighs, hard and heavy and too bloody far away.

Only when their bodies were entwined did Arthur slow down the kiss. He teased rather than took, filling all five of her senses until the shuddering pleasure overwhelmed everything else. She didn’t know whether to push him away and gulp for breath, or never let him go. She leaned toward the latter. Because nothing had ever tasted as good as his lips, the delicious curves she’d dreamed about for so long – even last night – sliding perfectly against her own.

The hand he’d had at her hip slipped beneath her top, stroking along the smooth skin of her lower back in delicate, almost ticklish caresses. Any hope of breathing properly vanished then, and she pulled back, gasping for air, staring at him in shock and amazement with the evidence of their desire still tingling on her lips.

“If that doesn’t convince you how much I fancy you,” Arthur said, almost as breathless as she felt, “I’m not sure what will.”

His skin was pinked. It looked as hot as hers. His eyes shone, too, constantly darting from her mouth to her eyes, then back to her mouth. Slowly, Gwen nodded. “I believe you.”

He licked over his bottom lip, as if chasing the taste of her. “I’m not being nice to you because of your dad,” he said. “I’m sorry you’re having to go through all that, and I’ll do what I can to make it easier for you, but honestly, Gwen, I would’ve kept chatting you up even if he was perfectly healthy.” His mouth twitched. “Though I would’ve kissed you before now.”

Her brows shot up. “You wanted to kiss me? When?”

“This morning when I left your house.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“It felt like I would’ve been taking advantage. And I didn’t want to give you a reason to push me away again.”

“I came to you tonight.”

“You did. And I’ll be eternally grateful you’ve finally seen the error of your ways and recognize you want me.”

She laughed at his teasing tone. “Oh, I’ve always known that. I just wasn’t sure I’d actually want you if I ever got you.”

“Oh, really? Is that a dare?”

“Would you let me stay the night if it was?”

Her bold query took him by surprise. He straightened a little, his hands falling from their respective places against her skin to lightly grip her waist. After searching her face for several moments, he said, “Can you tell me it’s not because you don’t want to be alone?”

She could, but she’d be lying. To both of them.

Her silence gave him his answer, and he smiled ruefully as he finally let her go. “A night out with mates probably shouldn’t end up with them in the same bed anyway,” he commented. “But the first time you come here because of us, and not because you’re trying to forget about something else, I promise you, you can stay.”

Sometimes, he really was too good to be true. But he was right. He deserved to have her for a better reason than her frustration with her father and their circumstances. They both did.

Hopping off the counter, she wiped her hands off on the seat of her jeans before holding one out to him. “Walk me to my car?”

His broad fingers curled around hers, strong and protective. The warm smile he shot her was even better. Without a word, he took the lead, guiding her from the kitchen, and then wrapping his arm around the back of her waist as soon as they could walk side by side.

She leaned her head against him the entire way to the street.


	8. Chapter 8

The library was dead slow.

Nobody had walked through the front doors in over an hour, and all but one of the tables were deserted. Gwen had shelved the last of the books before she returned to her desk, and now, she’d sat there for nearly forty minutes, wondering if it was worth it going to Geoffrey for some busy work to keep her busy until her shift ended.

Her computer beeped. It took only a few seconds to read the new email waiting for her, a reminder about the library’s upcoming reduced hours, but when she’d filed it away, it dawned on her she hadn’t checked in on her usual online haunts in almost two weeks, not since Tom had started his chemotherapy. Normally, forgetting to log in was out of character for her, but with Tom’s illness and Arthur and everything else taking precedence, it had completely slipped her mind.

She went to her favorite book forum first. Almost as soon as she started reading all the posts that had accumulated in her absence, a box popped up in the corner with a message.

_Where have you been?!?_

Gwen smiled. JustByGrace was the username of an American she’d been friends with ever since they’d discovered a mutual love for Ten/Rose. In the midst of all the other literaries on the forum, too busy worshipping Cormac McCarthy or dissecting Philip Roth, they found an oasis for indulging their inner fangirls, without having to venture deeper into the fandom. Grace had been one of the people Gwen had been talking about when she’d told Arthur about her online friends.

_RL, if you can believe it._

_I don’t believe it. How can that be more important than me? :P_

For a moment, she hesitated. How much to disclose? Grace had her own life, and though it was usually uncomplicated, Gwen had been away too long to burden her out of the blue. Until she could gauge more of Grace’s mood, she decided to refrain from talking about Tom just yet.

_If you could see him, you’d abandon me, too._

_Him? As in someone male? Holy crap, did you actually meet someone?_

_Remember me telling you about that cute blond who was always coming into the library?_

_Yeah. No way! You said he was gorgeous and completely out of your league._

_He is. Or I thought he was. But he’s actually very down to earth. And he likes me._

_Details!!! I need them. You owe me. :D_

Grace’s enthusiasm drew a smile. In all her turmoil, Gwen had forgotten how simple it was to just be when she was online, how easy it was to let the world and time slip away and romp around in playgrounds that were utterly imaginary but oh so satisfying in their escape. Grace was a perfect example of one of those people who always made Gwen feel good, even normal. They’d joked more than once that it sucked they were on different continents. If she’d lived in Ohio, or if Grace lived in the UK, they would probably have been real life friends, too.

She spent more than a few minutes teasing Grace with only the scantest specifics, thrilling in the odd sense of power it gave her. When Grace grew impatient, however, she finally caved, telling how she’d run into Arthur – without saying why she’d been at the newsagent’s – and how persistent he’d been. Getting to relive the night he’d spent at the house had her blushing, but she didn’t skimp on the story, even when Grace insisted something more had to have happened.

_I’m so jealous. You have to take a picture. I need to see this prince._

_He’s mine. You can’t have him._

_Why can’t you share?_

_Because I’m selfish._

_Ha. You’re the most unselfish person I know._

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard. Grace wouldn’t say that if she knew the whole story. And why shouldn’t Gwen tell her? Grace wouldn’t judge. She’d be sympathetic, just like she always was.

_Arthur isn’t the only reason I’ve been gone._

_Oh?_

_My dad’s sick._

_Oh, no! What’s wrong? He’s all better, I hope._

_No. It’s cancer. He started chemo._

_Oh, Gwen, I’m so sorry. You should have messaged me. I would have been there for you._

_I know. Thank you. I appreciate it._

_Please tell me Arthur’s helping you. And if he’s not, dump his ass right now. I don’t care how cute he is._

_Arthur’s been wonderful._

_Good. Though if he turns into a jerk, I’m coming over there to kick his ass in person._

The more she chatted with Grace, the more foolish Gwen felt she hadn’t done it sooner. This was who she should have come to when Dr. Gaius suggested seeing a therapist. Grace, and the online community Gwen was infinitely more comfortable with. In fact…

She opened a new tab to do a Google search. Within seconds, she had a list of a dozen different sites, all focused on support groups for people who had family members diagnosed with cancer. In between messages to Grace, she scanned through the various message boards and forums, trying to discern which one appealed to her the most. Story after story unfolded, and more than once, she got sucked into someone else’s tale. 

She wasn’t alone. Here was a woman whose mother had lived for nearly three years after the start of her chemo. There was a teenager who’d taken care of his grandfather when his mother had abdicated all responsibility. Everywhere there were people forced to deal with unavoidable deaths, sometimes poorly, more than often bravely.

Using work as an excuse, she thanked Grace for listening and promised to chat again the next day, so she could have more time to focus on what she was reading. Right now, just knowing others were going through the same things she was, feeling the same wrenching emotions, was enough to bolster her determination to be strong for Tom. It gave her hope, especially when she stumbled across a success story. 

_I can do this. We can beat this. It doesn’t have to be the end._

The best part was, she actually believed it. More than she had in ages. As the clock slid closer to the end of her shift, she bookmarked the sites she most wanted to revisit and logged off. Those were for another day. Now, she had a phone call to make.

“Hi, Dad. How’re you feeling?”

“A little hungry, actually.”

A good sign. Too many nights, he picked at his meals. He was losing more weight than made her comfortable. An appetite needed to be taken advantage of. “How about I pick you up and we go out for supper?”

“You don’t have plans?”

“Nope.”

“What about Arthur? You two should go out, instead.”

“If I’d wanted to spend the evening with Arthur, I would’ve called him. Now, do I have to call Dr. Gaius and have him order you to do what I say?”

Tom chuckled. “No, ma’am, I guess not. All right. Dinner with my best girl. I’ll be ready.”

“I’ll be home in half an hour.” Then, before he disconnected, “I love you, Dad.”

“I love you, too, Gwen. See you in half an hour.”

* * *

Though he’d spoken to Gwen briefly twice since Monday night, Arthur had yet to see her. Most of that was due to their work schedules. When she wasn’t working an evening shift, he had an evening patient. When he was available in the morning, she wasn’t. His dissatisfied grumbling amused Merlin to no end, though his commiserations weren’t quite as caustic as they’d been before meeting Gwen.

“I like her,” he’d announced the morning after their impromptu movie night. He’d been a little surprised she hadn’t spent the night, but mercifully, hadn’t commented too much on it. “It’s a shame you saw her first.”

“Just remember that I did.” He believed Gwen when she said she wasn’t interested in Merlin, but Arthur had seen enough girls go a bit silly around his friend before to know it could happen. Plus, they had things in common, which always made relationships easier. He almost couldn’t blame them if they decided to leave Arthur out of the equation.

But the week passed without another opportunity to repeat the kiss that had rocked him to the core on Monday night. He relived it every night, remembering how soft her mouth had been, and yet how quickly she’d welcomed his attention. He felt the weight of her arms around him, and wondered how she would feel without the cold countertop preventing them from fully appreciating the other’s body. He’d had a hint of her skin, but her reaction had torn that away from him, tormenting him with his own damn honor because he refused to take the next step when she was so vulnerable.

It was one thing to spend the night with her in his arms, just to get her to sleep. But he wasn’t so blinded by his own lust that he would use her up and down emotions to get off – not to mention, she wasn’t a one night stand kind of girl. In his heart, he knew sex with Gwen would mean something, and not just to her.

Merlin was already shut away in his room when Arthur got home that night, with a note explaining he’d up and out early the next day, so if Arthur wanted breakfast, he’d have to make it himself for a change. With a shake of his head, Arthur balled up the note and tossed it in the bin. Sometimes, Merlin acted like Arthur couldn’t take care of himself. It was hardly his fault if Merlin was the better cook and earlier riser.

His stomach growled as he dug around in the refrigerator for something to eat, finally settling on some leftover dansak they’d ordered the night previous. He had only just popped it into the microwave when his mobile went off.

“You're home.”

The sound of a perky Gwen brought an automatic smile. “I am.”

“I wasn't sure you would be.”

“Then why did you call?”

“I wanted to hear your voice. It was the one thing I was missing from my very excellent day.”

The microwave dinged, but he hardly heard it for the excitement in her tone. “Excellent? That's good to hear. Any particular reason why?”

“I talked to a friend in America. We haven't chatted in yonks, not since Dad told me about the cancer.”

“I take it she's a good friend then.”

“Very good. I didn't realize how much I missed her. It was much better talking to her than some therapist.”

She hadn’t mentioned anything about that before. “A therapist?

When she hesitated to answer, he wondered if this was yet another topic she’d hedge on. It was a relief when her pause lasted only a moment. “Dr. Gaius's idea. Dad thinks it would help me cope with everything.”

“Well, that _is_ their job.”

“I'm not good with talking to strangers, though. Not face to face. So I figured out today, I'll find an online group instead. That's a bit more my style.”

“You really did have a good day then.”

“That wasn't even all of it. Dad and I went out for supper tonight. He managed to eat the whole thing. Didn't even feel sick after.”

“That’s great.”

“And now you.”

The microwave beeped at him, annoyed that he hadn’t yet retrieved his food. Arthur grabbed it, but he wasn’t nearly as interested in eating anymore. Food could wait. “I'm glad you include me in the list of good things,” he said, dumping the curry into a bowl.

“Why are you in?”

“Why wouldn't I be?”

“It's Friday night. I thought maybe you and Merlin might've gone out.”

“Nah. Merlin's got an early flight tomorrow, and I was too shattered to even think of it. He's even gone to bed already.”

“Oh, I don't want to keep you.”

“Stop it. I was just thinking how I've missed you this week.” He leaned against the counter, trying not to think too hard about the last time she’d been in the kitchen. “I don't suppose you need me to come over to help you sleep, do you?”

“No, but maybe you need me to do it for you.”

“You come over here, and sleep will be the last thing on my mind.”

“Really? You're interested in some research?”

He could very easily get addicted to this playful tone of hers. “Is that what you librarians call it? I knew you were a cheeky bunch.”

“I think you'd be surprised at what we get up to behind closed doors.”

“Considering my fantasies about you? You'll have a hard time surprising me.” Silence filled the line. He couldn’t even hear her moving around anymore. “Gwen? Still there?”

“I’m still here.” Her voice had taken on that breathless quality he adored, the same as it had after he’d kissed her. “You've had...fantasies?

“Yeah. Does that bother you?”

“No. It surprises me.”

He laughed. “You can’t think I’m a monk.”

“No, but—”

“And I _know_ you’re not surprised because you think you’re unappealing.” He knew she did, actually, but daring her to admit it out loud when he’d told her – and acted – the opposite might be enough for her to see how silly she was being. She was better than the insecurity that often seemed to plague her.

At least she didn’t argue with him. It was a step, albeit a small one. “What kind of fantasies?” she asked instead.

“The kind that makes the library one of my favorite places in the world, even if I never get any work done.”

Her breath audibly caught. He wondered if she were in the same room with him, if he would be able to see the muscles work in her slender throat as she swallowed. His cock got even harder at the possibility.

“I don’t suppose you’d share it,” she said softly.

“That depends.”

“On what?”

“Whether you’ll share one of yours.”

Asking was a gamble. They hadn’t broached the subject of sex, other than her attempt to spend Monday night in his bed. He’d recognized that for the plea it was, even if his less than reasonable lower extremities argued who cared what her reasons were. But this was different. This was an even playing field. And there was no better way to open her up than to get her to talk about what turned her on.

“All right,” she finally said. “Hang on.”

“For what?”

“I’m moving into the bedroom so Dad can’t hear me.”

His knees nearly buckled at that point. He hadn’t counted on that, but now the image of her stretched out on her bed, cheeks flushed with heat as she recounted what she’d fantasized, wouldn’t go away. Abandoning the prospect of food, he half-jogged to his own room, closing the door carefully behind him to better not wake Merlin.

“What’s that I hear?” Gwen asked.

“I moved, too. Keeping things fair.” He tucked the phone into the crook of his neck so he could work at his fly. “I’m getting comfortable.”

“When you say comfortable—”

“I mean, if you were here, we wouldn’t be wasting time talking, Gwen.”

Her long, drawn out, “Oh,” rippled heavily across the line. He had no idea what she was doing, but he finished shucking his clothes in record time, carefully avoiding touching himself as he laid down.

“Are we really going to do this?” she whispered.

“This?” he teased. “Don’t tell me a librarian has a problem with certain words.”

“No, but…you’re going to…”

“Probably.”

“And I’m going to…”

“I certainly hope so.”

Silence.

Then, a creak of a bed. Not his.

“I’ve never done this before,” she said.

“Then I’ll go first.”

“Okay.”

Arthur closed his eyes. Summoning the mental image was harder than normal, but only because Gwen offered more tantalizing, real life images to distract him. He took a deep breath and ran his palm down the front of his thigh, close to his cock but still not touching it.

“It’s late,” he said, keeping his voice low. “Dark outside when I pull up, and the library is getting ready to shut. I can see the lights getting switched off, one by one, so I make a runner for the front door. The door’s locked, but you can see me, so I wave you over to let me in.”

“If the door’s locked, it means we’re closed.”

Arthur chuckled. “This isn’t real, Gwen. You can’t be practical about this, or it won’t work.”

He heard the smile in her tone. “No, you’re right. Go on. Do I unlock for you?”

“Yes. You don’t seem pleased about it, and you frown at me the entire time you do it, but then I’m inside, and you’re locking up again, just in case somebody else decides to come along.”

“So it’s your fantasy to sneak into the library after we’ve shut?” she teased.

“I haven’t got to the good stuff yet.”

“The library is the good stuff.”

“No, that would be you.” He rubbed his hand over his stomach. Pre-come had dripped onto his skin, and he smeared it around, wishing he wasn’t quite so excited yet. He wouldn’t last long if he started jerking off. He was too tightly wound as it was. “You’ve put your hair up, except it’s been a long day, and all these curls keep slipping out of the knot. You’re wearing that white blouse you have, the one you always unbutton the extra button on, and—”

“I didn’t think you’d even noticed that blouse.”

“With your skin and those breasts? Of course, I noticed.”

She made a choked sound, something like a whimper, that went straight to his cock. “What else am I wearing?”

“A tight skirt that goes past your knees. And these black heels that make your legs look a mile long.”

She laughed, then. “All right. Now I _know_ it’s a fantasy. I tried wearing heels to work once, and my feet were killing me by lunchtime.”

“Are you going to let me finish?”

“Of course. Sorry.”

“You start shelving all the books that need to be put away, but when you climb onto this stepladder to reach a top shelf, I decide to hell with my research and walk over. You don’t move. You just stand there, looking down at me, and you say—”

“Did you need something, Mr. Pendragon?”

Her voice was soft, though it still carried the cool authoritative tone he associated with the library, the words almost exactly from his fantasy, as if she’d plucked them out of his head and brought them to full, rich, beautiful life. His breath caught at the realization that she was playing along. He was tempted to ask why, but decided against it. What did it matter? She was, and he wasn’t about to tell her no, not when his body screamed for more than the simple game they played.

He took a steadying breath. “I don’t actually answer. I can’t stop staring at your legs, and I reach out to touch you.”

“No tights.”

_God help him._

“No tights,” he agreed. “Just your skin. Smooth. Warm. I trace the muscle with just my fingertips, from your ankle upward, but your skirt comes below your knee, and I have to move it out of the way to keep going.”

“That’s rather forward of you, isn’t it?”

“I don’t care.” And in his fantasy, he didn’t. He was mesmerized by her strong leg and the way the muscle quivered when he touched it. “My hand slips up, and up, and up, and your skin gets hotter the higher I go.”

“Because I’ve been waiting for this.” Her husky tones reached through their connection, caressing his bare flesh, coaxing it to respond. “Did you think I didn’t notice you, Mr. Pendragon? You’re impossible to miss.”

She played along perfectly. He actually believed her.

“You move when I reach the back of your thigh,” he murmured. “You lift your foot, and you set your toe against my chest, and you prod me away. I take a step, but only one, just enough to give you room to come down the ladder, because there is no way I’m letting you get away now.”

“Do you know why I stopped you?”

“Tell me.”

“Because you were about to find out tights aren’t the only thing I’m not wearing.”

Arthur groaned. They were deviating from the story he’d had in mind, but this was better, more urgent, because this came from Gwen as much as it did him. That made it real, or as real as either of them could have at that moment.

“Sit down,” he instructed. When he felt her hesitation over the line, he added, “The top step will do.”

“All right. Is there any particular reason why?”

“Because it puts you at the perfect height for me to get on my knees, push that skirt of yours up your gorgeous legs, and finish what I started.”

This time, the sound she made was definitely a whimper. It burrowed beneath his skin, driving away the last of his restraint, and he finally reached for his cock, swallowing hard when the first touch pulled his balls tight into his body.

“Arthur…”

She’d abandoned her librarian voice. Gwen was the one who spoke to him now, needy and breathless and too far away for his liking.

Slowly, he started stroking his length. “Yeah?”

“I wish you were here.”

His palm glided over his slick crown, gathering the fluid to use to ease the path downward again. “I wish I was with you, too.”

“I like your fantasy. I can see it happening. Except for the high heels. I’ve only got a pair of low ones.”

“Doesn’t matter. It’s not the shoes that turn me on.”

Her breath sucked in audibly. When she released it, it shuddered through the line. “Oh, god…”

He had to know. The sounds she made were torture. He needed the images, too, if he wanted any sense of completion. “Are you touching yourself?”

“…Yes.” The tremulous confirmation flooded over him. “Are you?”

Arthur smiled. Even in the midst of something new, something potentially overwhelming, she was brave and bold. “Yeah. I won’t last, though.”

“Why?”

“Because I keep thinking of what it would be like to have you spread out for me. What you taste like.” He licked his lips, wishing fervently it wasn’t a fantasy, then exhaled slowly in a vain attempt to regain some control. “I keep wondering how wet you are, too.”

“Very.”

His brain tripped over her response. “What?”

“That’s how wet I am.”

The new detail spurred him to quicken his strokes. “Do you think you could finish like this?”

“You mean…an orgasm?”

“Yeah. I want to hear you come.” If he couldn’t see or feel it, he’d take what he could get. He knew in his gut she would not be one of those cold fishes who just laid there, leaving you completely unsure whether or not she’d even enjoyed it. His Gwen would let her pleasure be known.

“I don’t—”

“Please, Gwen.” He refused to let her hide behind niceties or so-called rules. “We both know you want to. Don’t hold back. Not because of me. Just think of what you wish I was doing.”

“I liked…what you said.”

“Then—”

“And getting my turn to do the same for you,” she finished.

_On her knees._

Tasting.

Looking up at him through her lashes.

Swallowing.

That was what undid him.

He came with a groan, his body going rigid as he shot onto his stomach. In his head, it was Gwen’s lips stretched around his cock, her hot breath fanning across his skin. He hadn’t meant to come first, but perhaps it was inevitable, considering the way she had turned him on his ear from the start. This had been his fantasy, after all, and Gwen had been the one to twist it for the better. He would have been content describing all the ways he teased her in the library scene, forcing her to be quiet when her instincts would be to scream, but this, this exceeded his expectations, bursting through the imaginary barriers he’d constructed and leaving him shattered.

“Gwen,” he panted.

“I’m…I’m…oh, god…” Her voice faded into a controlled keen, though it was immediately muffled, coming to him as if from even farther away than she already was. His blood surged as he listened, straining for every bit he could make out, and still, it wasn’t enough. She needed to be here, beside him, on him, around him, so he could absorb every degree of heat, feel every tremor, soak up every delighted sound. This was second best. He almost regretted instigating the game, because now he had a hint of what it could be like.

Gwen would be glorious.

But still, he couldn’t rue too much. Because she wouldn’t have come if he hadn’t been there to incite her, and he wouldn’t be lying there, sated and happy, welcoming thoughts of how next time, he was going to curl her up in his arms afterward, listen to her little sighs of contentment, and fall asleep with the smell of her overwhelming his senses.

“That…was…” She ended with a long, satisfied hum that practically made his phone vibrate. 

“Yes,” he agreed. “It was.”

“Thank you.”

He chuckled. “You hardly have to thank me. It’s not like I didn’t enjoy that.”

“Still.”

“Do I get to see you this weekend?”

“I don’t know. Do you?”

“I’d like to. We need to have a proper date.”

“I work tomorrow.”

“So we’ll do something on Sunday.”

“Something?”

“Anything you want. Just name it.” 

“Can I think about it?”

“As long as that’s not a stalling tactic to tell me no.”

Her light laughter was the best sort of music. “It’s not. I’ll call you tomorrow, all right?”

“All right. Good night, Gwen.”

“Good night, Arthur.”

He disconnected with a smile. It had been an excellent day for both of them.


	9. Chapter 9

“Are you sure you’ll be all right?” Gwen asked for the sixth time. She hovered in the doorway between the kitchen and the lounge, her gaze jumping back and forth in search of some detail she might have missed. “I can still call—”

“You don’t need to call anyone. I’m fine.” Tom grasped her shoulders and forced her to still, keeping her that way until she looked at him. “Stop worrying and have fun.”

She shook her head. “I shouldn’t have suggested it.”

“Why not?” 

“I’ll be gone all day.”

“And what do you think happens when you’re at work?”

“I’m not across the country then.”

“You’re hardly going to be across the country today.”

“Dad—”

The sudden knock startled her into stepping back, stepping around, stepping toward the door, quickly wiping her hand on her jeans before answering it with a smile.

Arthur smiled back, though his eyes were masked by his aviator sunglasses. “Bright and early. Just like we agreed.”

They _had_ agreed. It had even been Gwen’s idea, one she’d been proud of when it had occurred to her Saturday morning. But when she’d woken up Sunday and realized Tom would be left all alone, the doubts had set in.

“Weather looks like it’s going to cooperate for you today,” Tom said from behind her.

“Gwen and sunshine. Doesn’t get any better.” Arthur held his hand out to her. “Ready?”

No girl in her right mind could refuse that smile. The fears melted away, and she folded her fingers into his, unsurprised at the electricity that passed between them even at that small touch. Their conversation the other night - _phone sex_ , she had to constantly remind herself, because it still seemed completely unreal – had proven the kiss hadn’t been a fluke. The attraction between them was all too real, combustible even over the phone. Neither one of them had mentioned it when she’d spoken to him on Saturday, but it lurked in the back of her thoughts, always present, waiting to be ignited again.

“Have fun!” Tom called out as they walked to the car.

From the curb, Arthur waved back, though it lasted only a moment before he turned his full attention back to Gwen. “This was a brilliant idea. When Merlin heard where we’re going, he was practically begging to come along.”

“You could’ve invited him. I wouldn’t have minded.”

“ _I_ would have. Today’s for you and me. He can find his own date if he wants to go.”

Gwen slid into the front seat with a smile. This sort of enthusiasm was exactly the response she’d hoped for when she’d suggested the Medieval Festival in East Sussex. She’d looked up “renaissance festivals” on a whim, prepared to file away the details of any such events for future reference, but when this had popped up, the timing had seemed too fortuitous to be dismissed.

Arthur had leapt at the suggestion.

“Do I get to see you all dressed up?” he’d asked.

She’d laughed, though a small part of her had been enchanted by the gorgeous costumes she’d seen online. “They have paid performers for that.”

He hadn’t let it go. He hadn’t even minded that it was a two and a half hour drive.

“It’s more time for us. What’s bad about that?”

So here they sat, chatting in the early morning hours, the rising sun behind them as they raced west on the A27. For the first hour, they avoided heavy topics, such as Tom’s illness or Arthur’s work, and stuck to the superficial, like what they might expect from the day, and what time they should leave to avoid traffic. Then, however, the conversation shifted to what might come after, specifically, Gwen’s involvement in the upcoming quiz night at the Prince Regent.

“Did you tell them what happened to me last time?” she queried, more than a little anxious.

“They don’t care.”

“Really?”

“Well, Leon asked if we should bring a gag, just in case…”

“He did not!”

“You’re right. He didn’t.” Arthur laughed when she slapped at his arm. “Stop fussing. They’re going to love you.”

“Because you told them to?”

“What?” He sounded perplexed. “That’s rubbish. Why would you say that?”

“Because you’ve never had an unpopular day in your life. People just like you.” She would never have found the nerve to make such a proclamation to his face before. Time had worked wonders to put her at ease with him.

“No,” he denied. “They just like what they see. Or like that I’m nice to them. Most people don’t even take the time to get to know me. Not like Merlin. Or you. Remember Vivian? She certainly didn’t.”

Gwen grimaced at the memory of the dim blonde. “Not that I don’t agree with you about her, but you can’t put me and Merlin in the same group. You’ve known him for years. We’ve only just met.”

Arthur was unswayed. “How many people do you think know what my research is about?”

“I don’t know.”

“Two.” He ticked them off on his fingers. “Merlin. You.”

The answer surprised her. “But why? You love that research. You’ve been coming into the library for months.”

“That’s why. Because it’s important to me. You think I’d share that with just anyone?”

_He shared it with me._

The enormity of his implication stunned her into silence. She helped people all the time with various things in the library, students with schoolwork, older people looking into their genealogy. It hadn’t occurred to her to ask _why_ Arthur was doing his research; she wasn’t involved in the end product. But the way he spoke suggested a grander purpose than simple curiosity. 

_Would he tell me if I asked? Do I dare pry?_

There was only way to find out.

“What is it about the bards?” she said, striving for casual. “Did you study them at uni?”

“No, my mum used to tell me stories.” His gaze remained forward, but his mouth had softened, his tone almost as wistful. “Medieval lit was her passion.”

“So you grew up on them.”

“Not exactly. She died when I was six.”

Her eyes widened. _No, no, no, what did I do?_ She didn’t want to dredge up anything sad, not for him, not for her. “Oh, Arthur, I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s okay,” he said. “It was a long time ago. But I never forgot those stories. I started reading them on my own, and learned more about the period, and it just seemed inevitable when I got to the bards. I guess you could say I…got tied up in knots over them, trying to suss them out. So much potential power, and then, not following through on it, or using their gifts out of fear.”

She’d never heard the bards characterized as such. Bards had been professional poets, and often satirized their employers when they were discontent. That seemed powerful enough to her, but Arthur clearly didn’t think so. Further proof of his unique perspective on the world.

“But you’re not interested in the run of the mill bard,” she prompted. “You said…you were looking into the bards who actually fought for their lords.”

“Yeah. Those are the ones.”

“Why?”

“Because they’re the ones who aren’t satisfied with the status quo. They’re the ones who take the voice they were given and actually do something with it. They were offered everything most people wanted, and they decided…it wasn’t enough.” He shrugged. “That probably doesn’t make much sense.”

“No,” she said quietly. Arthur would never be satisfied with inaction. He believed in following through on his ideals, like his research, like his work. He wanted results for what he believed in, and the bards who had opted not to settle for their protected lives seemed like an ideal mirror of that. “I understand completely.”

Arthur glanced in her direction, though she wished his sunglasses didn’t hide his eyes. The corner of his mouth lifted. “And that’s why I told you.”

Though it might not be the safest thing to do while he was driving, she reached across and rested her hand on his knee. Its strength and solidity offered comfort at the best of times. She hoped her small gesture could do the same for him.

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For trusting me.”

“You say that like it’s such a hard thing to do.”

“Isn’t it? I’m only one of two, you said.”

One hand dropped from the steering wheel to cover the one she had resting on his knee. “Trusting might be hard. Trusting you is not.”

* * *

Once, when he was at uni, Arthur had toyed with the notion of going to a renaissance festival. He’d even gone as far as contacting the history department to get more information. Then, the girl he was dating at the time, a New Age-y type who’d been mostly convinced she could communicate with trees but who’d known how to flatter him until he couldn’t see straight, had scoffed at the entire notion.

“People like that are obsessed with living in the past,” she’d said. One of her more coherent observations, though he wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d claimed the pine tree on the corner had told her what to say. “Do you really want to be one of _them_?”

So he’d let it go, and felt mildly ashamed a small voice in the back of his head agreed with her deprecation, a voice that sounded eerily like his father. _Them._ That unknown _other_ , who nobody ever talked about except behind closed doors or in muted whispers with their heads bent close together.

Like she wasn’t one herself, but he couldn’t actually see that until after they’d broken up. Her family had money and titles, and she possessed an ethereal beauty that distracted the most critical detractors. In her case, she wasn’t weird. The proper term was _eccentric_.

She would’ve hated Gwen. And Gwen would’ve hated her.

And Arthur liked Gwen a little bit more for being the kind of girl who’d dislike such pretentiousness.

He especially liked her for being the first one since – and only girl ever – to think he’d like to attend a medieval fair.

The event was brilliant. The second he walked onto the estate, he felt a tug of kinship with the various encampments sprinkled throughout the two hundred acres. Some contained demonstrations of medieval craftsmen. Others had tableaus of everyday life. He and Gwen walked hand in hand through each one, often stopping to discuss an element that might catch one or the both of their eyes. Her observations were always astute, her questions concise. He especially liked that she was willing to listen to him talk when they reached an area he had specific knowledge on.

Best of all, she seemed utterly unaware of how natural it was to stroll around with her hand tucked securely in his. She accepted his lead when he took it, and pulled him along when a whim would catch her fancy, but not once did she let him go or fight against his hold. He even caught her thumb absently caressing the side of his hand a couple times.

Friday might have been her excellent day, but this one was going to be one he’d never forget. All because of Gwen.

The market merged onto the tents where knights and archers milled around, waiting for the afternoon tournaments. Excitement wound through Arthur’s veins at all the brilliant colors, the flashes of sunlight glinting off the numerous blades, the distant whistle of arrows as a few participants practiced out of sight. He didn’t know where to look first. Their pace slowed drastically as he tried to take it all in.

“Apparently, they do lessons as well,” Gwen said. “I’m not sure what the requisites are to sign up, but it won’t hurt to find out.”

He blinked. “You’d want to take a sword fighting lesson?”

Her light laughter came with a nudge against his arm. “I meant for you. Don’t you want to see what your special bards went through by giving up their immunity?”

He did, but he wanted to spend the day with Gwen. If he signed up for a practical demonstration, he’d lose that.

His indecision must have been written all over his face. Gwen shook her head and led him away from the main tents, detouring through the crowd toward a large, open canopy with long tables set up beneath it. She went straight for the man in the middle, tugging Arthur along the entire way.

“Is it too late to sign up for one of the lessons?” she asked.

The man grinned down at her. Well over six feet, he had to weigh at least twenty stone, his tabard straining across his bulk. Though he was in the shade, sweat gleamed on his nearly bald scalp, and his bulbous nose betrayed his fondness for beer as well as food.

“We’ve a few spots left,” he said in a thick Irish accent. “But you’re just a wee bit of a thing. Are you sure you want to try handling a sword bigger than yourself, lass?”

When he felt Gwen bristle, Arthur braced to rise to her defense.

Gwen cut him off. “I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t sure. Where do we sign?”

“We? The both of you?”

“That’s usually what we means, yes.”

Arthur held his tongue while they went through the paperwork. There were no special delineations between men and women, just varying degrees of proficiency. Gwen didn’t choose the group designed for children and older people, but instead picked the standard beginner group, coolly staring the swordmaster down when he started to suggest she switch.

“You’ll need to pick out your weapons.” He gestured toward another tent back in the direction they’d come from. “Now remember—”

“You’ve explained it twice now,” she interrupted in her haughtiest librarian voice. “I do believe we can remember it just fine, thank you.”

Arthur bit back his smile when she led them away, but once they were out of earshot, all of her carefully contained emotions erupted.

“People like that are so _infuriating_! They always assume they think they know, what with their condescending little pats on the top of your head and, ‘now remember,’ but really, they know bugger all about anything. _Anything_!”

He’d never seen her so worked up before. Tom’s illness elicited sadder, more subdued frustrations. She was practically vibrating here.

“Are you actually going to do it?” he asked.

She stopped in her tracks and gaped at him. “Do you think I should sit on the sidelines, too?”

“Of course not—”

“Because I’m just as capable as you of swinging a silly sword, you know. Just because I’m a girl—”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You thought it.”

“No, I thought you’d made your point by signing up, and wondered if that was enough for you, that’s all.”

Her mouth thinned. “And give that idiot the satisfaction of believing I chickened out? I don’t think so.”

Arthur cocked his head, pretending to scrutinize her carefully. “It _is_ a very big sword, though. It’d be a shame for you to get hurt, just to prove you could do it.”

With a frustrated growl, she flounced away, her curls catching on the breeze to exaggerate the effect. Arthur laughed and jogged to catch up, grabbing her hand and holding on tight when she threatened to yank it away.

“Personally, I’m looking forward to seeing you flatten your opponent,” he said. “There’s just something about a woman who knows how to take charge…”

“I could very well end up with you, you know.”

He leaned down, his mouth hovering at her ear. “That’s even better. Having you on top would cross off another of my fantasies.”

She inhaled sharply, and her cheeks pinked. “In that case, I hope we do get paired together.” Though she kept her gaze forward, the corner of her mouth lifted the smallest of fractions. “Sometimes I think you forget you’re not the only with an overactive imagination.”

“No, I don’t forget.” To hell with holding her hand. He stepped toward her and slid his arm behind her waist, forcing their bodies into contact. The bond grew closer when she did the same, her slim fingers tickling along his side. “I count on it.”


	10. Chapter 10

She wasn’t supposed to ache. Going to the festival was supposed to be fun and relaxing, with chatting - _check_ \- and walking around - _check_ \- and hand-holding - _double check, and oh, she had to remember how good his hands felt for reliving afterward_. She hadn’t anticipated getting caught up in swordfighting lessons, or the adrenaline rush she got when Mr. Asshole Irish tried making an example of her and the other girl he’d paired her with and they’d got the crowds cheering by being surprisingly proficient, or the request to come back for the later session and help demonstrate that anyone could do it.

But she did. And she had no idea what she was going to do with the sword Arthur had insisted on buying for her, but she would forever look on it and remember what a wonderful day it had been.

It would’ve been perfect, if not for the aches.

Arthur was uncharacteristically subdued as they raced through the dusk, one hand lazily steering while the other toyed with hers, resting in the space between them. It gave her the time to study his profile without feeling self-conscious about it, the proud jut of his chin, the sensual curve of his mouth. He’d got some unexpected color today, and even in the dim lighting, it glowed. His assertions about people liking him for what he looked like were probably not far off the mark. He had that sort of presence, that calm authority that drew strangers in. But he didn’t use that appeal to manipulate others, or throw it in their faces. It wasn’t important to him, because he understood what truly was.

He was, without a shadow of a doubt, the most amazing man she had ever met.

“Do you work tomorrow?” He frowned almost as soon as the quiet question slipped out of his mouth. “Oh, wait. It’s Monday. Of course, you don’t work.”

She had to think for a split second to remember why that was true, then sagged against her seat as the reality returned. Tom’s chemo. She’d gone most of the day without thinking about it, long ago dismissing her worries at the door as overwrought and unnecessary. She wasn’t that worried now – he could have called at any point if he really needed her – but the weight of what was to come the next day was not something she should’ve forgotten, even for a little while. Not even for Arthur.

“Hey.” The fingers that had been caressing hers now jabbed at her forearm. “I know what you’re thinking. Stop it.”

She shook her head. “You can’t know.”

When he glanced in her direction, his eyes were narrowed and shrewdly assessing. “You’re feeling guilty because you had fun today, am I right?”

She should have known he would see right through her. “It feels wrong.”

“Being happy isn’t wrong.”

“It is when he’s not.”

“He seemed happy enough when we left this morning.”

“He’s _dying_. How can he be happy?”

“Because he’s still alive. Because he’s got a fantastic doctor who’ll do everything he can to keep him that way. And maybe because he’s got an amazing daughter who’s more than willing to give up everything to stand by him when he needs her most.” He shrugged. “Those seem like excellent reasons to be happy to me.”

On the surface, they were. Gwen could even see the logic on an intellectual level. It was the emotional one that was tearing her up.

When she didn't immediately answer, Arthur sighed. “It's not a crime to be happy, Gwen.”

“I know.”

“And you had a good time today?”

As guilty as she felt about Tom, there was no way she’d deny the truth to Arthur. “Today was magical.” Her smile was heartfelt. She hoped he saw that. “What about you?”

“The same.” He reached for her again, enveloping her hand in his larger one. When he spoke again, his voice was almost shy in how hesitantly the words came out. “That's why I don't want it to end. I was hoping you'd spend the night. But if you want to get home—”

“No.” She blurted it out, but didn’t care what it made her sound like. She’d thought of the possibilities between them for too long to turn him down. “If that's an invitation, I'd like to stay.”

“Okay.” Relief gave his tone strength again, and his smile returned. “I can swing by your place so you can pick up a few things if you’d like.”

That was the logical step to take, but Gwen feared that if she went home, she’d lose the courage to follow through on what she so desperately wanted. “If you have a spare T-shirt and don’t mind running me back early in the morning, we can go straight to your flat.”

“Then that’s what we’ll do.” They drove in silence for several minutes before he added, “I don’t even know how to start thanking you for today.”

“You don’t have to thank me. I had fun, too.”

“You _were_ rather spectacular during the swordfighting. I think you’re a natural.”

“More like determined. And you weren’t too bad yourself, you know.”

“I wasn’t the one who was asked back.”

“I should’ve said no. My arms and back are killing me.”

He frowned. “You didn’t say anything. We can do this some other time—”

“Oh, no, you’re not getting off that easy. Though I wouldn’t object to a massage when we get back. Don’t think I haven’t forgotten you still owe me.”

“If memory serves, you fell asleep just fine without it.”

“That doesn’t change the fact you still promised me one.” She lifted her chin. “I win.”

His laughter returned, his eyes crinkling adorably at the corners. “Serves me right for falling for a smart girl, I guess. I should probably get used to losing to you now.” He nodded briskly. “All right. A massage it is.”

Gwen smiled with him, but coherent speech was beyond her. _Falling for me. He actually said it._ And meant it, that was clear.

“It doesn’t have to be a one-way street.” Was that really her? Only Arthur could elicit such boldness. “If you want, I could give you one, too, though I warn you, I’m not a trained professional like you are.”

The look on his face was half delighted surprise, half shock, though he quickly schooled his features into an even smile again. “That just means we’ll have to log lots of practice hours.”

“Of course, it does. And you’re prepared to make the sacrifice of all those hours, are you?”

“For the purpose of your education, I’ll do whatever necessary.”

“Isn’t that supposed to be my line?” She cocked her head as a thought suddenly occurred to her. “Your research.”

“Is not about massages.”

“No,” she laughed. “I just realized. I have no idea what you’re planning on doing with it. _Are_ you doing anything with it, or is it purely an academic exercise? Working your brain instead of all your muscles for a change?”

He took his time in answering. To an outsider, his concentration would have seemed to be on the road, but Gwen knew how to recognize the signs now, and she watched, waiting for what he would share. The longer he took, the more curious she became, but still, she held her tongue, waiting for him to speak first.

“It started out like that,” he confessed. “I needed to know. I got consumed with finding out the whole story.”

“Something changed?”

“It was a story. A specific one. About a young bard who was killed during a siege and his brother who took up his sword. When the fight was over, the brother was asked to assume the bard’s place in court, and he turned them down. He said he lacked the character to be the man his brother had been, but he’d be honored to help his brother’s verse live on.” He paused. The lengthening shadows hollowed out his cheeks, making him appear more melancholy. “I realized…nobody today has probably even heard of either of them, and I thought, what a terrible shame. We revere men with less honor, teach our kids about less than heroic acts, and they go forgotten. That needs to change.”

She had always believed in his passion for his research. She’d seen his diligence, week after week. But this…this was something different, something deeper. This ran all the way to the core of who Arthur was. This was proof of why she could trust him. With everything she had. Everyone she loved.

“You sound like a man with a plan.”

“I am. I’ve been writing snippets of it down. If there’s enough – and I think there is – I want to try and make it a whole book.”

That, she hadn’t expected. But… “What’s this, _try_? If you want it, do it.”

He snorted. “It’s not as easy as it sounds. And it’s not exactly my area of expertise.”

“No,” she agreed. “I know that. But don’t use that as an excuse not to follow through on it. If you want, I can help.”

“Really?”

“Of course. Because for once, you’re in my area of expertise.”

“Not for once. You’re wrong there.”

He didn’t elaborate, and she didn’t ask him to. 

For once, she didn’t need it.

* * *

The flat was dark when Arthur unlocked the door, the air silent and heavy. Though it hadn’t even gone nine yet, Merlin’s door was pulled shut, too. Gwen wondered just what kind of hours Merlin worked to necessitate going to bed so early.

Holding a finger to his lips for her to be quiet, Arthur caught her hand and gently guided her around the furniture, ensuring she didn’t bump into anything en route to his own room. Her heart pounded harder with every step. She’d done her best not to think about what was going to happen when they finally got home, but now here she was, out of time, about to experience everything she’d wanted for months.

Even Arthur’s hand was a little bit sweaty, though she had no idea what he was so nervous about. 

Arthur led her a few steps inside before stopping. A moment later, the lamp on the nightstand flicked on. His room was small and that kind of sloppy tidy that came from people who wanted to be clean but lacked either the time or real dedication. Gwen suspected he was of the former group. Pillows half-buried the thick red duvet covering the bed, and he shrugged in mild embarrassment as he began to move them away.

“I have a pillow thing,” he said. “Sorry.”

“Oh, no, don’t apologize.” She scooped up a particularly lush one he’d dropped to the floor and hugged it to her chest. When she buried her face in its chenille cover, all she could smell was him. “You like your comforts. Nothing wrong with that.”

With the bed clear, he crossed to the wardrobe and opened one of the lower drawers. He rummaged for a moment and eventually emerged with a meticulously folded white t-shirt. “Will this do?”

Gwen was slow to get rid of the pillow. It made an effective shield, even if Arthur was smiling and patient with her. She was just glad the shaking in her hand as she reached for the garment wasn’t visible. 

“This is fine.” At least, it looked it. “I’ll go change.”

She fled rather than wait for him to tell her she didn’t have to. It wasn’t until she was leaning heavily against the closed bathroom door that she realized she’d brought the pillow in with her.

_What am I doing? He’s going to think I’m a complete nutter._

Her reflection stared back at her from the tiny mirror over the sink. The day outside had turned her hair into a frizzy mass of curls, far more than she’d thought corkscrewing in every direction from her head. With a dismayed grimace, she pulled her top off, then dampened her hands under the tap. Running wet fingers through the mess helped a little, though the theory of _more is better_ didn’t work in this instance.

_Stop being ridiculous. You’re about to have sex with him. If you do it right, your hair will look worse than this by the time you’re done._

And she knew the sex was going to happen. Neither one of them had come out and said it, but he’d been clear the last time she’d been around, not to mention all the innuendo about the massages, and her using his shirt, and the phone sex on Friday night. Counting on sex was the one thing she didn’t have to worry about.

Well, if she ever made it out of the loo, anyway.

With a massage on the horizon, she stripped out of her bra and jeans, grateful she’d been paranoid about this day/date to shave her legs in the shower that morning. The t-shirt came on next, and it fell, soft and worn just below the swell of her bottom.

Next dilemma.

_Pants, or no pants?_

On one hand, taking off her pants would be presumptuous, but if she left them on, it was possible Arthur might misconstrue her intentions. On the other hand, the shirt was long enough to protect her modesty if she went bare, but if Merlin happened to walk out of his room when she was in mid-transit between the toilet and Arthur’s bedroom, things could get uncomfortably dicey.

She stared at her reflection. “With all those hands, you’re not a girl, you’re a bloody Hindu statue,” she muttered. Her fingertips went white from how hard she gripped the edge of the basin. After a moment, she growled in frustration, let go, and shoved her pants down her legs.

The coolness immediately tickled across her inner thighs. Even with the t-shirt on, she felt bare, but before she chickened out, she scooped up her clothes and headed back to the bedroom.

Though the door was closed, she didn’t bother knocking. She didn’t want to wake Merlin, and Arthur was expecting her back anyway. She opened it just enough to slip inside, then stopped at the sight that greeted her.

She wasn’t the only one who had undressed.

He faced away from her, but maybe that was a good thing since this particular view already had her mouth as dry as a Tunisian desert. His shirt was gone, exposing his muscled back. His shoulders were even broader bare than they were fully covered up. A smattering of pale freckles dotted his left shoulder blade, and the muscles rippled beneath the otherwise perfect skin as he finished stepping out of his jeans. Her gaze slipped downward, following the straight line of his spine, drinking in the narrowing of his waist where his black boxer briefs molded over his ass.

She’d thought bending over in his jeans had been the ideal way to show off his backside. She’d been dead wrong.

Arthur straightened, shaking out his shirt and draping them over the back of the chair. “Go ahead and stretch out on your stomach,” he said without glancing at her. “You should be completely comfortable before I start the massage.”

Her feet refused to move. She couldn’t stop staring, because now she had a partial view of his chest, and the light hair dusting across its center. Flat, coppery nipples were already peaked from the slight chill, and the sculpture of his biceps flexed with each bend and reach of his arm.

“If you want the pillows back…” His voice trailed off as he finally looked in her direction. The faint sound of his sharp inhalation crossed the distance between them, but his gaze, so blue and warm, pinned her to the door far more effectively than her own overwhelming feelings.

It started at her face, meeting her eyes with a hint of awe, then slowly, torturously, edged downward. Her neck came first, and there it lingered, every second that passed adding another degree of heat to settle in her skin. 

From there it was her breasts, and the shirt pulled tight across them because of the way she clutched her clothes against her midsection. Her nipples had tightened in the bathroom, and now, the white cotton outlined them, the puckered tips dusky shadows beneath the fabric.

Next, her hips, and in conjunction, her thighs, teasingly bared by the smooth hem. The urge to fidget almost made her move, but Arthur licked his bottom lip – completely unaware of what he was doing, she was sure – and every synapse she had short-circuited.

“Bloody hell, Gwen,” he murmured. It took a moment to realize his eyes were back on her face. “I am never going to be able to wear that shirt again without thinking of you in it.”

She started to pluck at the hem to pull it lower, all too self-conscious now, but the clothes she held pulled at the other side, riding up to show the side of her hip. Arthur’s gaze immediately jumped to it, and when his nostrils flared, she couldn’t even breathe.

“Did you still…want the massage?” he said.

Hearing the way his desire wrecked his voice somehow bolstered her confidence. “Aren’t you the one who said I’d feel better tomorrow if I had one?” she teased.

“Well, yeah, but…” He tossed the jeans in his hand aside, ignoring how they crumpled to the floor. “I should warn you. This is going to be the dirtiest massage I’ve ever given.”

His blunt statement cracked the last of the locks holding her motionless. Laughter bubbled from her lips, and she set aside her own clothes while she crossed to the bed.

“That’s actually one of the most reassuring things you’ve said all day.” Stretching out on her stomach as he’d told her, she rested her head on her folded arms. A fresh chill drifted across the back of her legs, and she realized too late that the shirt had ridden up to show the lower curve of her ass. “I’m not sure how I’d feel knowing you were massaging your patients like this.”

“None of my patients look like you.” When he came toward the bed, she had to close her eyes or else risk drooling over the sight of his full erection, straining against the black cotton of his briefs. The weight of her hair disappeared from her shoulders as he pushed it out of his way, and his fingertips ghosted along the back of her neck, tracing the edge of the shirt’s opening. “I might have to forego massages for any of them for a while, not that I did that many to start with.”

“Why?”

His touch crept higher, below her ear and then along her jaw. A second touch followed it, and it wasn’t until she felt his breath warming her skin that she realized it was his mouth.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered. “And you have no idea.”

Her lip trembled. She had to squeeze her eyes tighter to hold in the sudden rush of emotion his simple words elicited.

“I’m going to start on your shoulders.” Strong hands curled around her wrists and gently repositioned her arms so that they were straight at her sides. She rested her cheek on his pillow, but still kept her eyes shut. “Big muscles first, then smaller ones.”

“Okay.”

Gwen held her breath as she waited for that first press. An eternity passed, more time than she could have imagined, too much time to be separated from his touch. She almost expected the bed to move beneath her as Arthur climbed on. He had to be as impatient as she was. The words were on the tip of her tongue – not just words, _pleas_ \- when it finally came.

It wasn’t what she thought it would be.

Rather than a firm rub, the touch was a sweep, a gentle stroke up either side of her spine, curling around her shoulders so that his fingertips caressed along her collarbones. Her breath stuttered and stopped. A single chill raced down her back, and her toes curled the moment it reached them, but not even that was enough to jumpstart her lungs again.

Arthur continued those long sweeps, up and down, hands rolling from fingertip to palm as he worked the larger muscles. Though he stayed off the bed, his heat joined hers. As her body melted into the mattress, damp tendrils began to cling to her temples and the back of her neck. He always brushed them aside, sometimes grazing across her skin as he did so.

The massage she expected came after, his broad hands resting on the on the tops of her shoulders as his thumbs made circular motions next to her spine. His weight leaned more firmly against her side now, and though every part of her felt heavy and relaxed, she somehow found the fortitude to open her eyes again.

“Is this comfortable for you?” she said softly.

She couldn’t see his face. The only part of his body in view was the expanse of his chest as he hovered above her and the strong line of his hip, his skin golden next to the black boxers. But when he spoke, she knew he was smiling. She could hear it in his voice.

“Trust me. There is nothing uncomfortable about touching you.” His hands slid away from her shoulders, massaging her upper arms now. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I’m floating.”

“No more pain?”

“None.”

Lower, and lower, and lower…each knead had his knuckles brushing against her sides, as if offering reminders that he was still there, that she could have more if she only asked. Except that required the power of speech, and now that her body had dissolved into a puddle of good, that was beyond her capabilities. 

The best she could manage was a moan resonating in the back of her throat.

“Gwen…”

“Mmhmmm…?”

The bed bowed beneath her as he braced his weight on a hand near her waist. His other pushed the hair away from her neck, lightly caressing her nape. “Do you mind if I wait and get the massage another time?”

His question broke through the euphoria suffusing her flesh, enough for her to gain control and roll slightly onto her side. “Is something wrong?”

Her new position gave her a much better vantage to meet his eyes. They were dark, the irises nearly swallowed by the pupils, and his mouth was soft and solemn. His thumb continued to rub small circles along her neck, tantalizingly hypnotic, but it was the directness of his gaze that left her trembling.

“I need to kiss you,” he said. “And I’m pretty sure that this time, once I start, I won’t be able to stop. So if you’re dead set on this massage trade, you need to stop me now, Gwen.”

He meant it. Every word. She knew it, she could see it, and damn if she didn’t feel it.

She felt a lot of new things with Arthur. Like a boldness only his safe presence could bring out.

Somehow, she summoned enough motor control to sit up, grabbing the hem of the t-shirt at the same time. When she pulled it over her head, she lost the contact of his hands, but the sudden flare of desire in his eyes more than made up for it.

“I’m not stopping you.”


	11. Chapter 11

The smartest thing Arthur had done was leave the light on. It burnished Gwen’s skin so that it gleamed a dull copper, inch after gorgeous inch waiting for him to touch, to taste, to take. In her haste to peel the offending garment out of his way, Gwen had relinquished any sort of control over her hair, and now, the wayward curls draped over her shoulder, partially masking the succulent curve of her left breast. The dark nipple peeked through, taunting him with its proximity. The fact that its mate wasn’t nearly so coy only made it that much more erotic.

He itched to touch her, but now that she was here, ready, pliant, _wanting_ , uncertainty slowed him down. She was a feast, and he had no idea what to sample first. A kiss, perhaps, as he’d promised, but when he’d offered, she’d been clothed – at least a little bit – and he hadn’t the bounty now poised in front of him. Then, there was his fantasy – many of them – of spreading her open and diving between her legs, to eat her out until she was boneless and hoarse. Or he could simply touch, learn for himself how soft she really was, how heavy her breast would be in his hand, how her muscles would quiver beneath her skin when he ran his fingers along her hip.

In the end, Gwen made the choice for him. She rested her palm against the middle of his chest, her fingertips curling slightly as if she needed a stronger grip to keep him close, and leaned forward.

The first touch of her lips was tentative, a sharp contrast to her earlier bravado. Her mouth clung to his, not searching for something deeper, not delving past his parted lips, but focused on the contact, the merging of skin to skin, the combining of breath with breath. She smelled like sunshine and the tang of dried sweat from her sword demonstrations. The earthy mixture drew a groan from his throat, and he finally sat on the edge of the bed and reached for her, strong arms wrapping around her waist to pull her firmly onto his lap.

She came willingly, the tiniest of squeaks punctuating the kiss at the sudden shift. Her bare ass nestled against his erection, and for that moment at least, he was glad he still had his pants on. If he’d felt the soft flesh against his uncovered cock, there was every chance in the world he would’ve shot like he was fifteen and incapable of control. But even with the thin material separating them, he felt her heat. It emanated from every pore, tangible proof she was as worked up as he was. And he knew if he slipped a finger between her folds, she’d be wet. For him. For the connection between them. For the potential of what it would be like when they finally came together.

That was a caress he’d put off a little bit longer. Because now that he finally got to kiss her, his prediction was coming true. The last thing on his mind right then was stopping.

At the first touch of his tongue, she opened to him, like she’d simply been waiting for him to come to her. The hand she’d pressed to his chest dug harder, her short nails sinking into his skin. It didn’t hurt. If anything, the tiny pinpricks added an edge to his hunger, sensitizing him to everyplace else he could feel her. The arms he’d wrapped around her slid of their own accord, one sliding downward to cup one firm buttock, the other skimming up her side to brush against the underside of her full breast.

Gwen gasped into his mouth, scant and sweet. Her body went utterly still, and though the kiss remained as deep, it slowed to match her rhythms. Arthur knew it was a trick of the mind. He’d felt this same reaction a hundred times before. Gwen wasn’t motionless because she held herself that way. It was a million tiny quivers, moving and merging so fast they became imperceptible to the human eye. Anticipation given life and form, contained within the skin until that moment it was finally given freedom to break free.

In Gwen’s case, freedom came from another touch, this one firmer, shaping the swell of her breast against his hand as his thumb stretched to trace around her hardened nipple.

When she squirmed in his lap, grinding against his cock, Arthur groaned. “If you weren’t already naked, I’d call you a tease.”

Her light laughter filled his head. “You’re the one teasing me.” She squirmed again. “You got to see everything, and I got only half the show.”

He pulled back to meet her dancing eyes. “You didn’t seem to have a problem with the show when you walked in.”

“That was when we were on even ground.” The hand on his chest finally moved, unfolding to angle toward his nipple. “I seem to have pulled ahead.”

He adored this playful side of Gwen. He didn’t get to see it nearly often enough, though he recognized she came out to play more and more the longer they knew each other. With a quirk of his lips, he twisted his upper body, falling back onto the bed with her now on top of him.

“If you want a level playing field…” It killed him to let her go, but for the purpose of their game, he had to. He folded his hands beneath his head and stretched his legs out, letting them fall apart at the same time. “…be my guest.”

For a second, she seemed unsure. Her new position sat her directly on top of his groin, as well as gave him an excellent view of the rest of her. He yearned to feel her heat against him again, but this was too fun for the moment, especially since he was dying to see how she’d react.

Soon enough, her brow quirked. The jut of her chin was pure determination, but the teasing twinkle was still in her eye as she slid downward to straddle his thighs. He expected her to move to the side, to free his legs for taking off his briefs, but without looking away from his face, she ran a single finger along the line of his erection, starting at the wet tip, not ending until she was tickling across his balls.

Arthur hissed and tried not to buck at the light contact. It wasn’t nearly as hot as her body had been, or as firm, but somehow, she left a blaze in her wake, a hint of what it would be like if she took him fully in hand. The effect heightened when her finger stayed between his legs, brushing back and forth across his sac.

Now it was his turn to be locked in anticipation.

“All right,” he panted. “You win.”

Her enigmatic smile shone down on him. “I knew that already.”

“So to the victor, go the spoils. What does my lady want?”

“What if I already have it?”

“Then think of something else.”

The back of her knuckles grazed along his thigh. He tried to shift to strengthen the contact, but she moved her hand out of the way, reversing her original route until she now traced the head of his cock.

“I want to be on top.”

“Done.”

Her brows shot up. “I mean—”

“I know what you mean.” Fumbling to the side, he pulled open his top drawer and groped for the condom box, all without looking away from her. “I was cheated out of having you on top when we didn’t get paired together for the swordfighting. I’m not about to turn you down when I want the same thing.”

When he couldn’t find the box right away, Gwen stretched to help him, her nipples hard points where they scraped across his chest. He deliberately stopped, prolonging the position as long as possible, though he grinned up at her when she noticed.

“Yes, I’m incorrigible,” he said in response to her unspoken charge. “It’s one of my many flaws.”

Her eyes softened, drifting to his mouth for a fleeting moment. “Many is relative.”

“But you’re not denying it.”

“And what would be the fun in that?” Her hand flexed and withdrew from the drawer, a strip of condoms between her fingers. “So the next question is, do you put this on, or do I?”

His pulse leapt, and his throat tightened. “Lady’s choice.”

“Hmmmm. Decisions, decisions.”

Her pretend musing was driving him insane. As she laid there, considering the options, her hips were rolling against his, her thighs squeezing lightly, each undulation soaking his pants even more than they already were. He could smell her arousal now, and it kept making his mouth water, which completely didn’t help holding back and giving her the free rein she’d won.

“I think…” Her head bent, and she kissed him almost chastely behind the curtain of her hair. “I will.”

This time, when she moved away, it was completely off the bed, leaving him cold and impatient for her to return. The condoms were set aside in favor of reaching for his briefs, and for a moment, he almost thought he saw her hands shaking. But then she was touching him again, peeling the garment away, even taking extra care to cradle his aching cock against her palm so that it didn’t get caught in the elastic, and he couldn’t think of anything but how much he wanted her.

She no longer regarded him. Instead, her focus was on his arousal as she slowly pumped her hand up and down its length. His foreskin slid back each time she went to the root, and another drop of pre-come would swell and seep from the slit. When she licked her lips and swallowed, he almost came on the spot. It reminded him too much about what she’d said on the phone. He had no idea what her sexual history might be like, but he knew that whatever it was, she would throw everything she had into the act of the moment, whether it was kissing, a blow job, or…

The foil crackled when she picked up the condom with her free hand.

_Damn, she really is going to ride me._

Just laying there, doing nothing while she tore open the wrapper, was harder than it should’ve been. He wanted this, yes, but time was collapsing in on itself, the seconds it took for her to take it out, toss the foil onto the nightstand, perch on the edge of the bed, almost interminable. He sucked air in between his teeth when she touched him again, and then that air was lost as she bent forward and licked across the head.

“God, Gwen…” He reached down, because she was too damn close and he’d gone too damn long without her, but all that hair was in his way, tickling his pelvis where it dragged along his skin. His fingers sank into the curls, and the best he could do was caress her cheek as she tilted her smile back in his direction.

“Next time, we’ll do this for real,” she said.

“Yes,” he agreed. “But this time…”

He tugged, pulling her off-balance. She fell against his chest at the same time he rose to meet her mouth, foregoing any more pretense that he wasn’t ravenous for everything she had to give. The kiss was an attack as well as a promise. He only hoped she understood.

Vaguely, he felt the mattress shift as Gwen situated herself more firmly along his body. Her free hand manipulated the condom over the tip of his cock, and without breaking away from his mouth, she rolled it down, slowly, carefully, stroking the pulsing vein along the underside as she did. He shuddered and held her tighter. He was half convinced he would fly apart if he didn’t.

Gwen’s ragged breath warmed his cheeks as she broke away from the kiss. Arthur had to let go of her wrist so she could balance herself, but the separation of their bodies meant he could now see her again, from the glow of her dark eyes to the slight sheen of sweat in the hollow between her breasts. Unable to resist, he lifted his head and dragged his tongue over the damp skin.

Goosebumps erupted, and her nipples drew even tighter. Though she gasped, it didn’t stop her from angling his cock toward her opening, or from meeting his gaze as she sank down his length.

Then it was his turn to gasp.

She was tighter than should’ve been possible, hotter, wetter, just _more_. Her eyelashes fluttered, her chest hitching, and her walls constricted around his cock, compounding every spark that was already cascading through his veins. He stared at her in awe. No woman had ever been more beautiful.

They moved together, rising and falling and pushing and pulling, each straining to touch everywhere they could. Lips fused. The only thought consuming him was need for her, overwhelming and urgent, and he thrust upward to meet each of her downward slides. The tempo they took came naturally, without plan or predesign, like this wasn’t their first time but their tenth, twentieth, hundredth. Even with that unexpected familiarity, however, he knew this wouldn’t be enough.

He suspected he might never get enough.

“Gwen…”

To his ears, her name sounded like a prayer. It felt like one, too, but she seemed unaware of the effect it had on him, too lost in her impending orgasm to see. He could tell she was close. Her inner walls kept fluttering around his cock, and the sounds she kept making reverberated into every kiss. His hand stole between their stomachs, and as she rose up, found her slick clit.

One pinch set her off.

She cried out, arching away, and clamped down around his length. Arthur sheathed himself one final time, but he couldn’t withstand her pleasure on top of his own. He grappled at her sweat-damp skin, trying to find purchase as his world unfurled. His failure only managed to prolong his release.

Gwen collapsed onto his chest, panting desperately for air. “That was the best decision I made all day.”

His smile stemmed equally from contentment as it did from joy. “Second best.”

“Second? What was the first?”

Though they would have to get up sooner or later, Arthur tightened his arms around Gwen and buried his nose in her hair. Peace slowly replaced the euphoria coming had flooded through his system, though in those moments, he wasn’t too sure they were actually different emotions.

“Deciding to spend the night,” he murmured.

“Ah…” Her cheek rested on his shoulder. “Yeah. You’re right.”

“Does that even up the score now?”

“No.”

“No?”

“That would be a tie.” Slowly, her breath began to even out. He recognized that rhythm. She was already getting sleepy. “And the way I see it, we both won.”

Arthur chuckled and closed his eyes. “Yeah. We did.”


	12. Chapter 12

All of a sudden, Gwen had a social life. 

Monday afternoon was spent with Arthur in town center, as they went on the hunt for a birthday card for one of the other physios at the hospital. Her sides ached from laughing so hard at listening to Arthur orate some of the sappier sentiments.

Tuesday evening, she helped the hospital team come in second place at the Prince Regent’s quiz night, and even managed to hold her tongue when the winning team gained extra points by arguing the veracity of their answers. Arthur bought the team a round of drinks to celebrate their triumphant return, then parked in front of her house after driving her home, giving Gwen a private thank you for helping to bring them back together.

She got her bra back on Thursday, when he showed up at the library to work on his research.

Friday, Arthur called and asked if she wanted to go out on Saturday night. “As wonderful as last Sunday was, I’ll choose this time,” he said. “It’s my turn to surprise you.”

“You don’t have to fuss.”

“Who said I was fussing? My surprise could be something completely mundane.”

She laughed and agreed, though secretly she knew nothing Arthur would choose could ever be mundane.

On Saturday, he called again, this time to apologize. “I know it’s short notice, but I’ve had a patient ask for an emergency appointment, and the only time he can make it is at six-thirty. I wouldn’t even ask this of you, Gwen, but he’s in a lot of pain—”

“Don’t be silly. Your patients come first.” She swallowed her disappointment, though she really did mean it. And this past week had been an embarrassment of riches. She could hardly resent the cancellation of one date.

“I won’t even make it home in time to use the tickets. I’m so sorry.”

“Do I get to know what the tickets were for?”

“The Playhouse is doing _Charley’s Aunt_. One of the nurses saw it last weekend and said it was hysterically funny. Since everything playing at the cinema sounded like rubbish, I thought this would be better. I just didn’t count on Mr. Page’s hip pain flaring up again.”

It did sound good, and now she was even more disappointed. But Arthur didn’t need the burden of that as well as his own. “Perhaps next time we’ll be luckier.”

“I’ll be done with Mr. Page by eight. If you wanted to head over to the flat, we could do something when I get home.” His voice became husky. “I was really looking forward to seeing you tonight.”

Since he’d offered a compromise, she felt more comfortable admitting, “Me, too.”

“So you’ll come?”

“What time?”

“Whenever you want. Merlin’s home. You two hang out until I get there.”

Which is why she found herself sitting in the corner of their couch that night, laughing with Merlin over an episode of _Mock the Week_ he’d recorded from Thursday. Since it was meant to be a fun night in, she’d dressed for comfort. Her shoes were abandoned half under the settee, and the loose jumper she wore over her favorite jeans slouched off one shoulder. She hadn’t even bothered to tie her hair back. Arthur had offhandedly mentioned once how much he liked it down, and ever since, she let it fall naturally whenever she could get away with it.

When the knock came at the door, Merlin leapt to his feet without taking his eyes off the telly. Gwen thought nothing of it until he answered, but her cursory glance back at him was startled into more when he stiffened and said, “Mr. Pendragon. I didn’t expect you.”

The man who strode in past Merlin – without invitation – carried an air of authority like he was royalty, driving Gwen to sit up and immediately smooth her hands over her jumper. The suit he wore had to have been custom-made, perfectly tailored to his tall physique, and his steel hair was cropped close to his head. He didn’t smile. The lines pulling at the corners of his mouth remained inflexible, carved in the stone of his features. When his shrewd hazel eyes swept around the room, he spotted Gwen, but rather than linger in acknowledgment, immediately moved on as if she was just another piece of furniture. 

“Where’s Arthur?” His demanding tone brooked no argument.

Hurriedly, Merlin closed the door and came around him, placing himself between Mr. Pendragon and the couch. “Not here.”

“His work schedule this morning said he’d be done by now.” He wasn’t even looking at Merlin as he spoke. “Did he have plans this evening?”

Though Merlin’s mouth opened to answer, Gwen beat him to the punch. “Arthur had to take an emergency patient.” She rose to her feet and held her hand out. “I’m Gwen DeGrance.”

His gaze flickered to her greeting, but only for a second. It promptly turned away from her and trained on Merlin, effectively dismissing her without a single word.

“Since it seemed you never gave my son any of my messages, you’ve given me no choice but interrupt your date, Merlin. Now, if you’ll kindly tell me when he’ll be home—”

“I’m not Merlin’s date.” Irritation had begun to swell at his contemptuous tone, but being so deliberately snubbed made it worse. “I’m waiting for Arthur, actually.”

Her interruption drew his focus back to her, this time far more assessing. He scrutinized her disheveled appearance, from the frizz of her hair to her bare toes. She suddenly wished she’d bothered with a pedicure. Not that she’d ever actually _had_ a pedicure, but if ever there was a time to have pretty toes, now was it.

“Really?”

Her cheeks went hot, the urge to flee the room overwhelming. That single word spoke volumes. It said, _You’re not good enough for my son._ , and _Just who do you think you are?_ , and loudest of all, _You’re really not worth my time._

But she didn’t move. She just stared at him, silent, waiting for him to make the next move.

When neither of them budged for almost an entire minute, Merlin jumped forward. “Arthur’s been very busy, sir. I’ve given him all your messages, but he just hasn’t had much time to get back to you.”

“He’s had time for _her_ , though.” Though Mr. Pendragon responded to Merlin’s assertions, his gaze never wavered from Gwen. “Which suggests I’ve been remiss in not coming to see him sooner.”

“He’s really not here that much.” Merlin swept his arm around the flat. “As you can tell.”

“He has responsibilities.”

“Which he’s tending to,” Gwen said. “His patients mean the world to him.”

“If you knew my son at all…” He stopped, frowning. “What was your name again?”

_I only just told you, you old windbag._ “Gwen.”

“Gwen. And how is it you know Arthur?”

“We met at the library.”

His mouth pursed. “Well, at least you’re not an auxiliary nurse. I suppose that’s something.”

“No, I’m a librarian.”

That disparaging sneer returned, this time with a small shake of his head. He turned away from Gwen, effectively ending their conversation. “You do have tea, I assume,” he said to Merlin.

“Well, yes—”

“Good. Put the kettle on while I wait. I’ll have one sugar.”

A muscle ticked in Merlin’s jaw, but he marched from the room without a word of protest, leaving Gwen alone with Mr. Pendragon. Though she waited in awkward silence for more of his interrogation, he chose instead to wander around the room, picking up a book from the shelf here, running a finger along the surface there. He seemed surprised to see her when his path put her directly in front of him, and lifted an eyebrow in mute query.

“Will your business with Arthur take very long?” Even as the question slipped out, Gwen knew how spiteful it sounded. He put her too much on edge to care, even if it was Arthur’s father.

“That depends on how reasonable he is.” He sighed. “Which, considering his obvious reluctance to speak with me, will likely not be very.”

“I’m sure he had a good reason.”

“Yes. He’s stubborn.”

“And busy.”

“With you? How often do you get to see him?”

It was none of his business. She should have left things alone. “Not as often as I’d like.”

“I haven’t seen him in over four months. I’ll guess that’s longer than you. Do you still believe he had a good reason? Or are you it?”

“We haven’t been seeing each other that long.”

“Thank god for small favors,” he muttered.

Her jaw dropped, but before she could say anything in defense, a key turned in the lock. They both turned their heads in time to see Arthur step inside. The smile he wore disappeared when his gaze lit upon his father.

“I’m guessing there’s a reason you just dropped in unannounced,” he said.

“You can’t be upset.” Mr. Pendragon waved a hand in Gwen’s direction. “Apparently, you allow just about anyone to wait for you here.”

That was the last straw. Scooping up her shoes, Gwen skirted the room to head for the door. When Arthur tried to stop her, she twisted beyond his reach.

“Gwen—”

“I’m only in the way,” she said, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to spill. “I’ll talk to you later.”

She took the stairs two at a time, not looking back even when Arthur shouted after her. Her hands shook when she reached her car, and it took several attempts to get her shoes on before she could start it. 

The tears won halfway through the first roundabout.

* * *

Arthur stared at Gwen’s retreating form as long as he could. More than anything, he wanted to chase after her, but even if he did, Uther would still be in the flat when he returned. He needed to resolve this business with his father, once and for all. Then, all of his energy would be devoted to finding Gwen and making amends.

With his knuckles white around the edge of the door, he slowly closed it, taking care to turn the knob and make it as silent as possible. A slammed door in front of his father would betray how angry Arthur was. Uther would use that as a sign of weakness. Arthur wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction.

He squared his jaw as he met Uther’s gaze. “I should kick you out right now,” he said through gritted teeth. “This is _my_ home, and you do not treat _my_ invited guests that way. I don’t care who you think you are.”

Uther frowned. “That girl? You can’t be serious.”

“Her name is Gwen.”

“Oh, Arthur. Even her name is common.”

“You know nothing about her.”

“She’s a librarian. Isn’t that enough?”

At his side, Arthur’s hand balled into a fist. Digging his short nails into his palm helped to distract him from his rising fury. “Why are you even here?”

“To see you, of course. Since you failed to return any of my calls.”

“An intelligent man would’ve taken that as a sign his calls were unwelcome.”

“Why must you make this so difficult?”

Behind Uther, Merlin appeared in the kitchen doorway. He shrugged apologetically, then said, “Your tea’s ready, Mr. Pendragon. Did you want a cup, Arthur?”

“No, thank you.” He’d probably throw it at his father, and as good as that would feel, it would accomplish as little as slamming the door. “This isn’t actually difficult, Father. I’m not leaving the hospital, no matter how many times you ask me to. So really, you’ve wasted a trip.”

Uther didn’t answer right away, accepting the tea Merlin brought out to him and taking a seat on the couch. The one thing that made Arthur feel better about his making himself at home was how uncomfortable he looked.

“Your…female friend said you had a patient tonight.”

“Gwen. Her name is _Gwen_. I won’t tell you again.”

“Right.” Uther gazed up at him expectantly. “Do you work Saturday nights often?”

His eyes narrowed. This was a new tactic. “Not really. But I do what has to be done.”

The smile that elicited was pure indulgence. “You always did. I used to think it was one of your greatest strengths.”

“Used to?”

“Well, you have a tendency to use it as an excuse to avoid other responsibilities these days, now don’t you?”

This was exactly why he never bothered to return any of Uther’s calls. The man he’d grown up fearing and respecting refused to see the son he had raised. He insisted on blinding himself to new truths, and nothing Arthur could ever say would change that.

“Why do you even want me to work for you? It can’t be because you want family to show off. Morgana does that perfectly well for the both of us.”

“Your sister does an exceptional job,” Uther agreed. “She’s intelligent—”

“Devious.”

“—thorough—”

“Devious.”

“—and incredibly motivated to see me happy.”

“ _Devious_ ,” Arthur repeated. “Though I’m not complaining, since it’s worked for both of you so long. But don’t you see? You have her. You don’t need me.”

Uther’s gaze ducked, as he sipped at his tea for a moment. “Morgana’s been…distracted recently.”

“What do you mean, distracted?”

“She’s been seeing someone. It’s affected her work.”

“So? Morgana gets bored with men easily. You know that.”

“Not this one. I’m fairly positive she’s going to marry this one.”

Uther’s quiet statements finally shed some light on his dogged persistence. All he’d ever professed to wanting was to have his children join in the business he’d built from nothing, a desire that had grown rabid after Arthur’s mother had died. Arthur had gone along with it until it became obvious Morgana was far more suited for the task than he was. Then, he’d cheerfully abdicated any interest in the schmoozing and lying inherent in Pendragon Consulting to follow his own heart’s desire. It was an arrangement that had worked perfectly for all of them, once Uther saw just how good Morgana was. At least, until now.

“You can’t think marriage is going to stop Morgana from working,” he said. “She loves it too much.”

“I can, and I do. She’s already had some egregious errors in judgment. Leniency she’s never shown before.”

In spite of Uther’s obvious frustration, Arthur couldn’t contain his bark of laughter. “You mean, falling in love has finally meant she’s grown a conscience. Well, good for her.”

Uther looked up sharply. “This is not amusing, Arthur.”

“It is a little. Because you’ve been miserable for so long, you can’t stand the fact we might not be. If Morgana’s happy, you should be happy for her, not trying to undermine her position at the company by bringing me on board. Which, for the last time, is _never_ going to happen.”

“Because you’ve found happiness with your little librarian?”

He was not going to correct him again. It wasn’t worth the energy. “Because I love my job. Because I’m good at it. Because if I worked for you, it would be a very different place than the one you’ve created, and yes, because Gwen makes me happy and the last thing I would ever do would expose her to your contempt on a daily basis.”

When Arthur turned on his heel, Uther stood and demanded, “And where do you think you’re going?”

He stopped with his hand on the doorknob. “To make sure Gwen understands that I am nothing like you.”

He didn’t wait for Uther’s reaction. It wouldn’t be good anyway. He even managed to hold back from slamming the door on his way out.

Though the urge to speed overwhelmed him, Arthur kept it in control just over the limit. Now that he didn’t have Uther hanging over his head – though he couldn’t be certain the phone calls would stop – all he could think about was the look on Gwen’s face when she’d fled. She tried to hold her feelings back, but he could read her, better than she probably liked. He feared what Uther might have said to her outside of Arthur’s presence, though he had to believe Merlin wouldn’t have let it go too far. Whatever it was, though, he had to convince her none of it was true. She didn’t need his father’s bitterness contaminating her life.

Thankfully, her car was out front when he pulled up, and he parked behind her to prevent her from running on him. He didn’t think she would, but he was playing it safe, nonetheless. When he knocked at the front door, the nets at the bay window flickered. Tom, however, was the one who answered.

Gwen had claimed Tom was improving, but Arthur wasn’t as sure. She saw him day to day, so perhaps the changes weren’t as evident to her, but Arthur hadn’t seen Tom since that morning after he’d spent the night with her on the couch. The shadows beneath his eyes were deeper, his cheeks more sunken. There was no denying his pallor, or the fact that he’d lost more weight. For a moment, Arthur hesitated to involve him in their drama. Tom’s illness was enough to bear on its own.

Except the look on his face made it clear he was already involved.

“May I see her? Please?” Arthur wasn’t above begging if he had to, not this time.

“She’s shut herself in her room.” Tom edged onto the front step, pulling the door mostly closed behind him. “What did you do to her?”

“It wasn’t me. I swear.”

“She was crying.”

God help him. He’d never get that image of her out of his head now. 

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“What happened?”

“My father stopped by. He’s not…he said some things to Gwen.”

“Why didn’t you defend her? I thought you were a stand-up bloke, Arthur.”

“I am! I did, after she’d gone—”

“But not while she was there?” Tom shook his head. “She deserves better than that.”

“She does,” he agreed. “I wasn’t there when it happened, and if I had been, I would have kicked him out the second he started. But she left before I could stop her. I got over here as soon as I could. Please, Tom, I _need_ to talk to her.”

“I don’t think she’ll want to see you. And frankly, I’m not sure I’m thrilled with it, either. She doesn’t need more problems in her life, and from what I’m seeing, you’re a problem.”

The terse declaration sent Arthur’s stomach plummeting. “Just ask her. Tell her…I’m not him. I don’t think like he does. And if she really wants me to go, I’ll go. But whatever she thinks, I’m not giving up just because my father’s an asshole. And Gwen should know that.”

His pleas seemed to finally be getting through. With a frown, Tom glanced over his shoulder, clearly debating the wisdom of following through on Arthur’s request. “Gwen’s the world to me,” Tom said quietly. “She’s the strongest person I’ve ever known, stronger than her mum was, certainly stronger than me. Most people don’t see what a gift she is—”

“I do,” Arthur said firmly. “Trust me on that. I wouldn’t have come if I didn’t.”

Tom sighed. “All right. I’ll ask her. But if she says no—”

“I’ll go. Just like I promised.”

Nodding, Tom vanished inside.

Arthur could only wait.


	13. Chapter 13

Her head felt thick, her eyelids too heavy too lift. Gwen buried her head in her pillow and tried not to think about all the reasons why Mr. Pendragon might actually have a point in his contemptuous remarks, but all that did was make it even harder to breathe.

She rolled onto her back and stared at the artexed ceiling. When she had been little, she’d created stories out of the swirling design, imagining whirlpools that would whisk her away from all the kids at school who didn’t understand the way she thought. Each one had been a sanctuary. Each one had offered its own brand of comfort.

Right now, all she saw was a blank ceiling. Even there, she was a failure.

When the knock came at her door, she rolled onto her side, facing the wall so Tom couldn’t see her and fuss about how upset she was. “Come in,” she called quietly.

The latch clicked. “Arthur’s here. He’d like to see you.”

Surprise jerked her around again, though Tom’s frown deepened the moment he saw her face. “He’s supposed to be at his flat.”

“He said…” His mouth pursed, like the words tasted badly. “He’s not his father. And he’d really like to talk to you and make you see that.”

She’d never thought he was like his father; surely he knew that? She was halfway out of bed before her gaze flew to the mirror on her wardrobe. The image was blurry, but she could just bet how swollen her eyes really were. 

Gingerly, her fingers prodded the swells of her cheeks. _I’m a right mess. I can’t let him see me like this._

“He knows you’re upset.” Tom spoke like he could read her thoughts. “And…he seems genuinely distressed about whatever happened. I take it…his father and you had words?”

With a sigh, Gwen dropped her hand to her lap. She should’ve known she couldn’t hide everything away from him. And whether or not she had to be strong for Tom, it felt good to be able to lean on him, even a little bit. “Mr. Pendragon had a few more words than I did. All of them, not very nice.”

“Arthur will go if I tell him to. All you have to do is say so.”

It was tempting. Already, Arthur helped her be strong about Tom’s cancer. The last thing she wanted was for him to perceive her as some sop who let a bullying attitude get to her. If she waited to speak to him until tomorrow, or even Monday for their usual afternoon meeting, she’d be more composed, more the girl she wanted to be.

_For him. Go ahead and say it. You’re afraid he’ll take one look at you and make a runner._

Except he’d come. And he knew she was upset and wished to see her anyway. She owed him that courtesy, if nothing else.

As long as she was being honest with herself, there was a lot of something else. Because she couldn’t believe that someone like Arthur had come from someone like his father. Because Arthur had begun to teach her what it meant to trust in people again. Because he had been there for the hardest news of her life and been a rock.

Because in her heart, she wanted to see him. Maybe as badly as he claimed to want to see her.

“I’ll talk to him.” She stood and reached for her glasses. “Thanks, Dad.”

Tom hovered behind her as she wiped the worst of the tears away. Her reflection appeared even scarier with her glasses on, but she ignored her instincts to clean herself up more. This was who she was. She was done pretending. She wouldn’t do it, not even for Arthur.

When she saw he wasn’t in the living room, Tom gestured toward the door. She took a deep breath and marched over, ready to invite Arthur in. But the sight of him leaning against the side of his car, his body long, his head bowed, compelled her to step outside.

He looked up when the door clicked shut behind her. For a moment, he looked utterly miserable, as awful as she did, but when their eyes met, relief seemed to wipe most of it away.

“I’m sorry,” he said without preamble, straightening as she approached. “I should have warned you about my father. If I’d known he was going to stop in tonight, I would never have suggested you wait at the flat for me.”

She stopped halfway there. A chill was in the air, and she hugged her arms a little closer to her body. “You’ve rarely talked to me about him.”

“There’s not much to say.”

“He certainly seemed to disagree with that.”

“He tends to disagree with me more often than not.”

“He said…you were avoiding responsibilities.” Talking about the things he’d said about Arthur was easier than addressing the hurtful things he’d aimed at her. “What did he mean?”

Arthur sighed and leaned against the car again. “He’s never been happy about my career choice. He wants a family business. Which in his mind, requires _all_ of his family’s involvement.”

“All?”

“I have a sister. Morgana. She’s worked for Father as long as she’s been legally allowed.”

Someone else he’d failed to mention. Gwen understood they hadn’t really known each other that long in the grand scheme of things, but when he knew so much about her father, it was disconcerting to realize she was so ignorant of his.

“So you didn’t expect him tonight?”

“Of course not. Do you think I’d subject you to that kind of treatment if I did?”

It would be a lie to say yes. “He’s very unlike you.”

The first hint of a smile curved his mouth. “That might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” He held his hand out to her. “Please don’t stand so far away. I know he’s a bastard, but I’m not him. I’d never hurt you like that, Gwen.”

When he did that, when he said things so simply, from his heart, she believed him. She had no choice but to venture closer, her pace hesitant, until she stood at his side. She didn’t take his hand, though, but rather leaned against the car next to him, sighing when the weight of his arm came across her shoulders.

“I knew we were different,” she said softly. “I just didn’t know how different until I met your father.”

“But we’re not,” Arthur replied. “Don’t judge me because of where I came from. I certainly never judged you that way.”

“I know.” Even when she had expected him to.

“What did he say to you when I wasn’t there?”

“It wasn’t as much what he said as how he said it. Like…it was my fault you two weren’t in contact more frequently. Like Merlin and I were barely good enough to serve him tea, let alone speak to him.”

“Oh, he hates Merlin. Always has.”

“Why? Merlin’s wonderful.”

“Because Father’s a snob, through and through. He judges people on their appearances, not on their accomplishments, or what they are on the inside. And that, more than anything else, should be reason enough for you to ignore him completely. He’s not worth getting upset over.”

“But he’s still your father. You still have him in your life, whether you like it or not.”

“Well, I don’t like it. And if I had my way, when he acts like this, he’d be out of it completely. Good riddance to bad rubbish.”

Hearing him say it so matter-of-factly…Gwen’s head spun. Here she was, desperate for anything that would keep her father in her life as long as possible, and there was Arthur, willing to walk away from his without even batting an eyelash. Considering the man’s vitriol, she wasn’t sure she could blame Arthur for the reaction, but the unfairness of it all burned through her veins. 

When her silence stretched, Arthur pulled her gently toward him, encouraging her to rest her cheek against his chest. “I’ve been on my own for a long time,” he said, his voice low and soothing. “I’m not the man my father wanted to be, but you know what? I don’t think I’d like the man he wants for a son. I will always be a disappointment to him, whether you’re in my life or not. So please, don’t make the decision to walk away from us because you think you’re sparing me. You’re not.”

Part of her did think that, actually, but leave it to Arthur to understand that without her having to vocalize it. “Doesn’t it bother you?”

“What?”

“Not having his approval.”

“Sometimes,” he admitted. “It gets easier, the longer I’m on my own.”

“It shouldn’t have to.”

“I know. But he’s not going to change. And I’ll waste my life waiting for that to happen. I’m not willing to do that. I’d miss too many wonderful things. Like you.”

Though the compliment made her blush, she recognized the truth in the rest of what he said. He wasn’t the type to waste time or effort. He was focused and determined, two qualities she’d seen from the start. If he could be strong about denying his father, even as much as it hurt, so could she. 

Lifting a tentative hand, she rested it on his stomach, completing the circle of their embrace. “I don’t want to walk away,” she whispered. “But it’s hard.”

“Isn’t anything worthwhile hard?”

“You think we’re worthwhile?”

“I wouldn’t have come after you if I didn’t. I think you’re the best thing to happen to me in a very long time, and I would hope you get something out of…us that you didn’t have before.” His lips brushed the top of her head. “Tell me what it’ll take to make you feel better, Gwen. I’ll do anything.”

She squeezed her eyes shut and buried her face further into his body. They weren’t just words. With Arthur, they never were. He understood the value and power behind them, and wielded them accordingly. “You’ve already done it.”


	14. Chapter 14

The only good part about getting sent home early was the extra time Gwen would have to show Arthur all the material she had on his bards. The day after the medieval festival, she’d put feelers out to a few specialists she’d found, and this morning, some of it had actually paid off. Two folders of new research to add to Arthur’s already growing stash sat on the passenger seat next to her. She hadn’t had time to look it over yet, but she was confident it would have at least some stuff for him to use.

She was humming under her breath as she turned onto their road, but as her gaze went automatically to the drive, the tuneless sound faded away. A strange car sat behind Tom’s Vauxhall. 

_Who would he let come to the house?_

Tom had found excuses to refuse visitors ever since his diagnosis. He only saw his friends when he felt his best, and always someplace else, like nothing was wrong, like his leave of absence would be over any day. Having someone at the house was a huge step for him. For both of them.

“Hey, Dad!” she called out as she opened the front door. Nobody was in the lounge, so she headed for the kitchen, only to be brought up short when he blocked the way. “What’s going on?”

He wasn’t smiling. In fact, he looked more than a little wan, almost as peaked as he occasionally got after his chemo. “I wasn’t expecting you home for hours yet.”

She frowned. He hadn’t actually answered her question. “Geoffrey has to cut back hours at the library, so I got off early.” Craning her neck, she peered past his shoulder to see a thin man in a suit sitting at the kitchen table. A laptop was open in front of him, and papers with a pen resting on top waited at Tom’s empty place. “What’s all this about?”

“It’s nothing. It’s just…some matters I needed to take care of.”

“Is it about the hospital visits?”

“Not exactly.”

“Then what?”

Tom cast a disconsolate look back at the table, then grasped Gwen’s elbow to pull her away from the room. His fingers were cold against her skin, and frightfully thin. She could have easily shaken him off without even trying, but that realization stunned her into complying with his guidance.

“Mr. Roberts is a solicitor,” he said in a low voice. “He’s helping me sort out some paperwork.”

The chill from his hand began to bleed into the rest of her. “What kind of paperwork?”

“Gwen—”

“What _kind_ of paperwork?”

He sighed. “My will.” 

She stared at him blindly, unable to see anything but the image from the kitchen. Though she’d feared the worst at his evasion, she hadn’t anticipated those two words, those final, awful words. “But the chemo’s working. You don’t need to worry about…” She couldn’t even say it. All she could do was wave a helpless hand toward the other room. “…that.”

“I do, because I have to make sure you’re taken care of—”

“No!” Now, her tone was rising, sharp and scared. “We’re fine. We’ve got everything sorted that needs to be. You don’t need him. Not for a very long time.”

“I wish that were true—”

“It is.”

“It’s not. Though I love you for believing in me.”

Her mind raced, trying to make sense of it. “Did something happen you’re not telling me about? Did Dr. Gaius call?”

“No, but—”

“Then everything’s the same as when I left for work.”

“Right. Because odds are, I’m still going to—”

“Don’t say it!” She yanked free of his hand and whirled away. Her skin crawled, icy and hot at the same time, and her eyes burned in her devastating confusion. “Why are you giving up like this?” She didn’t even care that the solicitor could hear her. Maybe he’d leave then, and she could pretend she’d never seen him in the first place. “I thought we were fighting this together!”

“We are. I’m not giving up.”

“You’re writing your _will_. It doesn’t get more final than that.”

“I’m preparing for the worst.” Anger began to harden his features, a muscle ticking in his jaw, his eyes tightening. “I’ve taken care of you your entire life, and I am not about to stop now, just because you might not like how I’m doing it.”

“You can take care of me by taking care of yourself.” She jabbed a finger toward the kitchen. “This isn’t how you do it.”

“It’s a necessary step. I don’t want you to have to worry about it when—”

“Don’t!”

“Gwen.” Slowly, he stepped forward, like he might approach a feral cat. “You think I want to die? I don’t. I want to see you settled, with someone you love. I want to play with grandchildren and spoil them rotten because you’re too good a mum to let them run willy nilly. I want lots of things, but you and I both know this isn’t an easy thing to beat. If the worst happens, and I haven’t done everything I can for you, I’d never forgive myself.”

_The worst._ She didn’t think about the worst, at least not consciously. She did everything she could to focus on the positive, even when he walked out of the hospital looking like he wanted to throw up on her shoes. She deliberately ignored the reminders that he wasn’t well every time she came home and he was tucked into his chair, or she had to clean up the bathroom because he was too weak to do it himself. Every day, she woke up and went on with her life like this was only a bump in a very long road. She had to.

Because most nights, the fears still plagued her sleep. She didn’t always have nightmares. Those had been cut down dramatically since she’d found the online support group to talk to, or could call Arthur on a moment’s notice. But there were still dreams, haunting, melancholy images of a life without the man who’d always been her rock. There were still doubts, terrifying thoughts about what would happen if the chemo actually made things worse. She’d woken up more than once with damp eyelashes, and had to lie in bed for a few minutes to brace against the new day.

Just because it was easier to get through the waking hours didn’t mean the demons of her resting ones were completely gone.

This belonged in those horrible dreams.

The problem with that was…a will was tangible. Black and white. Proof of one man’s life, neatly tied into words for his heirs to disseminate.

_Heir. Singular. I’m all he has._

“Were you even going to tell me?” she asked.

He shook his head. “You’ve got enough to worry about.”

“So I would’ve just found out after the fact?”

“I scheduled the appointment when I knew you would be at work. I knew it would bother you.”

“Bother me?” Hysterical laughter bubbled forth. “Why should it bother me? Why should thinking about what you’re leaving behind bother me in the slightest?” She picked up the nearest object, a small ceramic bowl she’d made on a Butlins holiday when she’d been six. “Do I get this? Or what about this?” She tossed the bowl onto the settee in order to grab Tom’s eyeglass case. “What’s the point of any of this stuff if you’re not here, too?”

Pity gleamed in his eyes. “Gwen—”

Throwing the case after the bowl, she bolted past him, racing for her room and slamming the door shut behind her. If he was going to force the issue, he was going to have to do it without her around. She didn’t have to watch him write his damn will.

Watching him die was hard enough.

* * *

_“We don’t have to go, Gwen.”_

_“She invited you for a reason.”_

_“Yeah. Father told her about us. Morgana’s curious, that’s all.”_

_“Aren’t you?”_

_“What?”_

_“Curious. You haven’t met her boyfriend, right?”_

_“Well, no.”_

_“Would you rather I not meet the rest of your family?”_

_“Of course not. It’s just…Morgana can be unpredictable. Sometimes, she can be just as vicious as Father.”_

_“I’ll take my chances. I need this, Arthur.”_

_“You don’t need to prove anything to me.”_

_“I know.”_

She hadn’t clarified, and he’d felt uncomfortable pressing her further. In the week since she’d discovered Tom had finalized his will, she’d been more reserved than usual. Her smiles were still genuine but less frequent. She buried herself in her work and Arthur’s research. She’d spent Friday night with him, but when she’d fallen asleep with her head on his lap, asking for sex felt awkward. He’d contented himself with holding her as close as he could all night long.

Morgana’s invitation came out of the blue. He only mentioned it to Gwen because the timing amused him. He never expected to be waiting in her living room on Sunday evening, dressed in a suit he hadn’t worn in months, making small talk with Tom while she finished getting ready for dinner with his sister and her new boyfriend.

When he heard her bedroom door open, he rose to his feet, his greeting ready on his tongue. His mouth went dry when she came into view.

Her hair was pinned up, with loose tendrils curling along her neck. She wore more make-up than usual, her lips pink and glossy, but it was the knee-length sheath dress he’d never seen before, the fabric molded over curves she usually hid, that stole his breath. Black with an abstract blue and white orchid pattern, it had empire lines that accentuated both her waist and breasts. Its asymmetric neckline slashed to the right, and when she turned to kiss Tom’s cheek good night, he saw the keyhole cut-out exposing her elegant back.

“You look stunning,” he said in all sincerity, as soon as she faced him again.

Gwen fidgeted with her skirt. “All right for The Lamb?”

He shook his head. “They don’t deserve to have you.”

Her pleased smile came with a shy duck of her head. He held her wrap out to drape over her shoulders, lingering a moment to trace the line of her spine peeking through the opening.

“Have fun,” Tom said.

“If you need anything—”

“I’ll know where to find you.” He shooed her toward the door. “Go. Bring me something from the dessert menu.”

Arthur held her hand all the way to the car, but when she stepped back to give him room to open the door for her, he tugged her closer.

“Sorry if this smudges your make-up.” His hands cupped her face, tilting her head back. “But I just have to do this.”

Her small surprised gasp was swallowed by their kiss. In that moment, his desires were torn. One part of him wanted to take her to the restaurant and show the world how beautiful she was, proud that she was on his arm and nobody else’s. Another wanted to whisk Gwen home and show _her_ how beautiful she was, because sometimes, he still couldn’t believe how lucky he’d got.

It was only knowing the opportunity for the latter would present itself after dinner with Morgana that gave him the strength to let her go. Her mouth was swollen, her gloss slightly smeared, but the dazed glow in her eyes made it all worth it.

Though she lifted her brows in question, he didn’t speak. He just smiled and let her go, reaching for the door as he had been about to do before kissing her. She slid into the front seat, and his gaze went to the length of exposed leg that was the last to get in.

No tights.

Discreetly, he adjusted his growing erection as he went around the back of the car.

The drive to The Lamb was filled with conversation lighter than they’d had all week. Arthur steered topics away from anything that might sadden Gwen, telling stories about Merlin’s latest fiascos with problem tourists. By the time they pulled into the lot, her cheeks were pink from laughter. She was the one to reach for him this time when they met at the front of the car, her small hand tucked into his as they walked slowly for the door.

Sunday evening dinner hours were shorter than the rest of the week, and despite it being close to seven, the restaurant was half full already. As they waited their turn to speak to the hostess, Arthur kept caressing the side of Gwen’s palm with his thumb. He didn’t want her to tense up. She would have more fun if she stayed relaxed like she’d been on the drive over.

“Reservation for four,” he said once they reached the hostess stand. “Under Pendragon.”

“Your party has already arrived. This way, please.”

They navigated through the other guests seated at the dark tables. The room had an old world feel, more traditional than most places these days, with heavy gold curtains at the windows and a rich cinnamon stain on the walls. Candles created an air of intimacy, as did the crackling fire in the stone fireplace that dominated the far end of the room.

Morgana rose from her seat as they approached. He might have been nervous how this was going to go, but the sight of her delighted smile was enough to banish at least some of his butterflies. She wore her hair in loose curls instead of the tight knots she’d always preferred for work, and her red dress – while fashionable and flattering – was softer than the norm. At her side was a tall, dark-haired man with a playful grin and a twinkle in his eye.

In that moment, Arthur realized Uther’s analysis of Morgana’s relationship was one hundred percent right. Morgana was different.

“Keeping me waiting like always,” she teased. She pulled him into a hug, brushing a kiss across his cheek. “It’s a good thing I like you so much.”

“You look like you had good company, though.” They separated and he held his hand out to her date. “I’m Arthur.”

“Gwaine.”

The man’s smile was constant as they shook. When they pulled away, Gwaine’s hand immediately went to the small of Morgana’s back. Arthur didn’t have to hear or see any more. He already liked Gwaine.

“And this is Gwen.” Mirroring Gwaine’s pose, he guided her closer, staying at her side as she greeted them. “My sister Morgana.”

He watched the two women carefully, assessing every flicker of eyelashes, every nuance of their voices. He hadn’t realized until right then how badly he wanted them to get on, but he really did. If Morgana could accept Gwen for who she was rather than who her parents were, perhaps Gwen would finally believe that she was as worthy of respect as anybody in Arthur’s family. He knew it was hard for her. He’d do whatever it took to convince her otherwise.

“So Father told me you were a librarian,” Morgana said once they were all seated. Against his knee, Gwen’s leg stiffened, though she seemed perfectly calm to anyone passing by. “You must have found Arthur buried in your stacks. I swear, I’ve never known anybody who loved musty old books the way he does.”

Morgana didn’t know the details of his research over the years. She’d only seen the outward vestiges of his labor. As he pretended to look over the wine list, he wondered whether or not Gwen would keep his secret.

“Actually, we met when he tried telling me my library was rubbish,” Gwen said lightly. 

His jaw dropped. “I did not.”

“You did.” She patted his hand in mock assurance. “But that’s all right. It was my pleasure to put you right again.”

Both Morgana and Gwaine laughed.

“Oh, I like you already,” Morgana said. “It’s about time Arthur dated someone who kept him on his toes.”

“Especially when they’re such nice toes,” Gwen added, nudging him under the table.

Arthur looked to Gwaine. “So how did you two meet?”

“At a fancy dress party. She was Lara Croft. Very hard to miss.”

“Oh, that’s original, Morgana.”

She cocked a brow. “Father wanted me to go as a young Elizabeth. So it was either Lara or Buffy the Vampire Slayer. And I’m not blonde.”

“You could have been Faith,” Gwen piped up. All eyes turned to her, and for a moment, she hesitated. “She was the…other Slayer…”

Gwaine winked at Morgana. “The hot one.”

“Sorry, I never actually watched the show,” Morgana admitted with a rueful smile at Gwen. “I was more of a Doctor Who fan.”

Gwen immediately brightened. “Me, too!”

It was as if a fire had been lit under both women as they launched into excited chatter about the show and its actors. Gwaine interjected more than once with his own opinion, but Arthur was more than happy to simply watch. He was the one who had to interrupt when the waiter came by to take their dinner orders, and when nobody else seemed interested, he was also the one who ended up choosing the wine.

The responsibilities were welcome. It gave the girls more time to talk, something neither seemed in any danger of stopping. While he’d seen Morgana like this more than once, he’d only heard Gwen open up like this with him and Merlin. She glowed, just like he knew she could. Whether she saw this night as a success didn’t matter anymore. Because for him, it already was.

* * *

Carefully, Gwen reapplied her lip gloss, taking her time to ensure getting it right on the first pass. Dinner was over, so there really wasn’t any good reason to touch up her make-up, but that was the excuse she’d come up with so she could flee to the toilet, so if she didn’t return with something done to her face, everybody would know she’d been lying. She didn’t want that. But she did need the time and space to compose herself after what had turned out to be an unnerving couple of hours.

It wasn’t Arthur’s fault. Or anybody else’s. It was Gwen’s. Because she’d completely set herself up to merely tolerate his sister – after all, what could she possibly have in common with a business shark about whom the kindest word Arthur could use was unpredictable? – and she’d been utterly mistaken.

She liked Morgana. Genuinely so. And Gwaine was devilishly charming.

She hadn’t expected that. At all.

And she wasn’t entirely sure what she was going to do with it.

_Why couldn’t she be a bitch? I could hate her, and then I could pretend Arthur’s all on his own. It could just be me, and Arthur, and our friends. That’s a pretty good life._

Gwen sighed at her reflection. “You just can’t do easy, can you?”

The door opened behind her, and she jerked straight, her gaze flying to the new arrival. Morgana entered, smiled at her, and crossed to the other sink. 

“Gwaine’s looking at the whisky options from the bar,” Morgana said, turning on the tap. “Please tell me you’re almost done in here so I can stop him before he orders something.”

“I’m done.” To prove it, Gwen capped her gloss and slid it back into her purse. “Is he supposed to drive back to London?”

“No, we got a room for the night so we didn’t have to fuss about it.” She cast a wicked smirk at Gwen. “I would just rather he didn’t pass out before I have the chance to have my way with him.”

Gwen laughed. Over the course of the evening, Morgana had revealed a bawdy sense of humor. She was a woman who knew what she wanted, and didn’t have a problem letting it be known. A trait to be admired, if Gwen was being honest.

“Besides,” Morgana continued, “he’s trying to talk Arthur into a tasting, too. And you can’t tell me you don’t have the same ideas I do.”

Embarrassed heat flooded her cheeks. Ducking her head, Gwen reached for a paper towel to try and hide it. “I’m not sure what we’re going to do.”

“It’s all right.” All of a sudden, Morgana was right next to her, a slim hand resting on Gwen’s forearm. “A blind man could see how mad you two are for each other. All those little looks when you thought we wouldn’t notice? Not to mention the way he talks about you.” She smiled softly. “I can’t even remember the last time I saw Arthur so happy.”

Morgana’s final claim was what drew Gwen back to her. She might be Arthur's sister, and probably the most beautiful woman Gwen had ever seen, but Gwen had felt a tug of kinship with the other woman from the start. It wasn’t just the common Doctor Who interest, though that had certainly broken the ice. It had been a certain tilt of Morgana’s head, the way she’d met Gwen’s eyes with curious understanding, not condemnation. Their conversations throughout the night had only sharpened her first impressions. The urge to talk about her relationship with Arthur was overwhelming.

_And you wonder why you get over your head every time._

She gnawed on her bottom lip. _So much for fresh gloss._ “Our dating doesn't bother you?”

Morgana saw straight through it. It was there, in her clear gaze. “Is this about Father's opinion or yours?”

“He didn't like me.”

“He doesn't like anyone. He _hates_ Gwaine. Arthur could be dating a princess, and Father would still find something to fault.” 

Arthur had said much of the same, but it was gratifying to hear it from someone not nearly as invested in making Gwen feel better as he was. It gave her confidence to confess, “I really…care for Arthur.”

“I know. He feels the same way. I've never seen him like this before.”

“Like what?”

“So relaxed. Content. He was always so tense before he went off to uni.”

“But he dated before. I know he has.”

“Yes, but Gwen, you’re the first girl he’s ever been interested in introducing to me.”

She blinked. She knew Arthur and Morgana had their differences, but that seemed a little extreme. “Ever?”

“Ever.” Morgana said firmly. “He could have told me to sod off when I invited him to dinner, or not told you about it, or used any of the hundred excuses he always had for why he never brought girls around. But he didn’t.”

“I would’ve thought it was to protect her from your father,” she said without thinking. She grimaced when she realized what she’d said. “No offense.”

Morgana laughed. “None taken. Because you’re right. That’s exactly the kind of man Arthur is. And even more reason why I know you’re different. He wouldn’t have bothered introducing you because he wouldn’t have expected you to last long enough for it to matter.” She turned away and gave her appearance one more scrutiny. “In my book, that makes you the real deal. Which is a bit of a relief, honestly, because it means Arthur actually does recognize quality when he sees it. I was starting to worry about him.”

Though she thought Morgana was overanalyzing Arthur’s motivations, Gwen couldn’t deny the truths Morgana revealed. In a way, it made things both easier and harder to deal with. Easier, because it lent weight to her own feelings, knowing she wasn’t blinding herself to reality. Harder, because this was new territory for her. She’d had plenty of crushes before, but falling in love with someone was entirely different.

She froze. She had not just thought those words.

_Yes, you did._

Love? She didn’t know anything about that.

_Neither does most of the rest of the world. Welcome to being human._

But they hadn’t known each other that long. Love took time.

_He’s been burrowing his way in from the start. He was the first person you trusted to tell about Dad. Sometimes, love doesn’t_ need _time._

“You coming?”

The query startled Gwen out of her fugue. Her head snapped up to see Morgana’s reflection in the mirror, waiting expectantly at the door. She smiled, though the muscles in her face didn’t feel like her own.

“Of course.”

She followed Morgana back onto the dining floor, her thoughts too scattered to make sense of. Her steps were automatic, her gaze unfocused. She was barely aware of Morgana edging out of her line of sight to move off and meet Gwaine.

But then Gwen looked up, and there was Arthur rising from the table. His suit jacket framed his broad shoulders perfectly, the dark tone highlighting his fairer coloring. More than one woman turned to stare at him, each one all too appreciative of just how gorgeous he was. He didn’t seem to even notice them. His eyes were all for Gwen.

And she knew. And it wasn’t because he was so good-looking, or had the finest body she’d ever seen. It was because of the crooked half smile he gave her, that look that said, “I know you, and you _still_ amaze me.” It was because of laughter and secrets shared, tears and kisses left to come.

_I love him. I really do._

Her heart was lighter those last few feet to him.

And when he held his hand out for her, she took it.


	15. Chapter 15

Gwen tucked the piece of banoffee pie beside the leftover mash on the top shelf of the refrigerator and quietly closed the door. The note she’d already written for Tom was held in place by her “Shakespeare Chick” magnet, and all the lights were out in the kitchen, the only illumination coming from the spillover from the hall. She returned silently to the front room, only to stop in the entrance, beguiled by the sight of Arthur standing at the hearth looking over all the family photos on the mantel. 

He’d taken off his suit jacket, his crisp white shirt displaying his well-proportioned body as well as the coat had. He was in need of a hair cut. The ends were visibly longer than usual, tickling at his collar in such a way Gwen itched to curl them around her fingers. The light from the lamp on the end table softened the harshness of his cheekbones, but the softness of his mouth was entirely him.

“As well as tonight went, I feel a little guilty not having pictures of Morgana up at the flat,” he said. She hadn’t made a sound, and yet, he had known she was there. There was probably some logical explanation – like he’d heard the refrigerator door shut – but Gwen was going to let the afterglow of the evening continue on by believing in the most romantic interpretation possible. “Of course, that’s just as much for Merlin’s sake as anything else.”

“Merlin’s?”

“He had a bit of a crush on her when we were at college. She wasn’t very nice about letting him down.”

“Teenaged girls can be cruel.”

He set down the framed photograph of her and Tom at Christmas a few years ago and finally smiled back at her. “I find it very hard to believe you were ever that way.”

She smiled. “No, you’re right. I wasn’t cruel. I was condescending.”

His brows shot up. “Really?”

“Because of my vastly superior intellect,” she said in mock preening.

“Well, you are rather smart, I’ll give you that.”

“Only rather?”

“Incredibly?”

“I suppose that’s better.”

“Untouchably.”

Gwen laughed. “A bit too far.”

“Lucky for me.” He crossed the room, catching her hip in one broad hand and tugging her close. “If you were untouchable, I couldn’t do this.”

She held her breath as he traced the asymmetric neckline of her dress, from the wider shoulder strap, diagonally down to the upper swell of her right breast. There, he lingered, caressing a small patch of skin in ever tightening circles.

“That’s not exactly where my brains are,” she teased, her voice barely a whisper.

“No,” he agreed. He lifted his hand, and the same finger that had burned its path across her chest now skimmed over my forehead, down her nose, settling at her parted lips. “You were brilliant tonight, by the way.”

When he began to drop his hand, she caught the tip between her teeth, tickling it lightly with her tongue. His sharp intake of breath was valid reward, but she wanted more than that. She wanted it all.

“Brilliant enough to entice you to stay?” Lifting her hands, she played with his tie, pretending to straighten it, but instead loosening it in tiny increments. 

His gaze jumped to the hallway for a split second. “Will it make things uncomfortable with your father?”

Though she’d never had anyone spend the night before – not like she intended to spend the night with Arthur – Gwen had no doubts about Tom’s reaction. “It’ll be fine. He trusts me to take care of myself. And he likes you.” Using the tie as a leash, she stepped back into the hall, toward her bedroom. “I owe you a better night’s rest than slumped on our settee. My bed is far more comfortable.”

His face passed from light into shadow as they made their way down the darkened corridor, but she would be able to see his smile no matter where they were. He didn’t utter a word, not even when she pulled him into her room, but as soon as the door clicked quietly behind them, he cupped her face, tilted her head back, and kissed her.

She had waited for this ever since his surprise kiss at the car at the start of the evening. If she was being honest, she was curious whether it would be different, knowing now what she did about her feelings for him. Would she be more responsive? Would he somehow be able to know how she felt just by the way they kissed? Or would it be disappointing, somehow not the magic and fireworks all the poets claimed it should be?

It was none of that.

It was Arthur’s mouth moving gently over hers, still sweet from the panna cotta he’d had for dessert. It was the brush of his tongue against the seal of her lips, coaxing her for entry, determined and delicate all at the same time. It was affection, embraced in desire, wrapped up with trust and respect.

She clung to him with tightening fingers, her legs trembling from the urge to crawl up his powerful body and ride him right there against her closed door. His arousal pressed against her stomach, thick and hard, and her pants grew wet with her own. Not wearing tights had been a deliberate choice tonight. She didn’t really need them most of the time anyway, but the memory of their library fantasy often lurked in the back of her mind. From the way Arthur kept finding ways to steal touches beneath the table, she knew he thought of it as well.

But now, her thighs became slick, her dress too tight and confining to breathe properly. Each rustle of the fabric was torture. It heightened her already sensitive skin to the burning point, but also got in the way of alleviating the heat in any fashion. She needed to get out of it, as soon as possible, but that would mean breaking away from Arthur’s mouth, and these deep, soulful kisses that left her lips numb, and that wasn’t acceptable just yet.

His free hand skated down her side, slipping around her hip to lightly grasp her ass. When he kneaded the flesh, forcing their bodies closer with each slight pull, her instincts immediately kicked in. She ground against him, and her nails clawed against his shirt, digging into the skin even through the material. Arthur burned as hot as she did. From the quickening tangles of his tongue, he was as hungry to be rid of their clothes as she was, too.

She fumbled with the knot on his tie, any sense of grace now gone. Arthur nibbled at her lower lip, his breath fanning across her face, and when he finally broke away, his pupils were blown with desire.

“We haven’t actually made it to the bed yet,” he panted.

“No.” Without the distraction of his mouth, she could loosen the tie far more effectively. “We should probably do something about that.”

“We should.”

Neither one of them moved. Unless breathing heavily counted as movement. And Gwen’s fevered attempts to get his wretched tie out of the way.

He glanced down at her awkward hands, his own never stopping the assault on her ass. “Would you like some help with that?”

“I can manage quite well, thank you.” As soon as she could figure out why on earth it seemed to be getting tighter instead of looser.

“Really, it’s no trouble.” He was trying not to laugh at her. She could see it in the twitch of his lips.

“I’m fine. And if you keep asking, I just might leave it on and use it as a leash.”

“Well, now that’s certainly tempting…”

She squeaked when he suddenly scooped her up, one of her shoes flying off before she could curl her toes and keep it on. It thudded against the wall loud enough for her to twist around and stare at the door, fully expecting her father to come knocking on it to find out what was going on.

Arthur was oblivious to her concern. He carried her over to the bed and set her on the edge, releasing her almost as abruptly as he’d picked her up.

Gwen caught herself on her hands, but her gaze jumped to the doorway. “Sshhh!” she warned. “Or it won’t matter what you’re wearing.”

He followed her line of sight, but he was still smiling when he turned back to face her. As he toed off his shoes, his hands worked at his belt, unbuckling it to provide better access to his fly. “I can be quiet as a church mouse,” he whispered. As if to prove his point, he managed to get his trousers off without his belt making a single sound. “You’re the one making all the noise. A bloke could start to think you were trying to sabotage this or something.”

“I’m the one who invited you to stay.”

His shirt came next, though he somehow left the tie on, letting it dangle loosely down the middle of his chest. “Maybe you have cold feet?” He crouched down and picked up the nearest appendage in question, sliding his fingers along the arch. “Oh, no. Not cold at all.”

Goosebumps prickled along her calf as his smooth touch glided upward. He massaged her ankle, rolling the joint carefully when he was done, then set it down to remove her other shoe. A similar massage followed, but this time, he didn’t stop. By the time he reached her knees, her thighs were quivering nonstop, her legs parted as far as her dress would allow.

“Arthur…” His name came out on a puff of breath, the best she could manage as her body betrayed her beneath his expert touch. She wasn’t sure what she was asking for. More? Less? That required control over her thoughts, and somehow, he’d managed to steal that away from her, too.

No, not steal. Theft wasn’t possible when she gave it willingly. As far as Arthur was concerned, she would give him everything she had, everything she was, if that was what he wanted.

His head turned, and his lips brushed across the inside of her knee. She gasped, her fingers digging into the duvet. She barely had time to get her head back together before he did the same to the other knee.

“Remember my fantasy?” he murmured.

_I can’t even remember my own name, and he wants me to remember something of his?_

Swallowing hard, she focused her thoughts away from how he wasn’t lifting his head now that he’d met the hem of her dress, and onto the question at hand. Fantasy. Right.

_Which one?_

The answer to that came when he slid his hands between her dress and the back of her thighs. “Up,” he said.

She obeyed, lifting her bottom clear of the bed. Her feet couldn’t touch the floor to brace. She was forced to rest them on Arthur’s bent legs and balance that way as he pushed her dress out of his way.

It cleared her waist, but when she tried to sit back down again, he stopped her.

“Wait.”

His fingers caught her pants and at the most excruciatingly slow pace she could ever imagine, he dragged them downward. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t even look away, though his eyes were riveted on her thighs and what he was doing. When the piece of silk reached her knees, he finally glanced up, a pleased smile on his perfect lips.

“Think you can balance on one foot at a time so I can get rid of these?” he taunted.

In spite of the tumult wreaking havoc inside her skin, Gwen lifted her chin in defiance. “Absolutely.”

Though it exposed her even more than she already was, Gwen raised her left foot, deliberately dragging her toes along his stomach. She didn’t look away as he slipped the panties past her heel, or as she repeated the motion on the other side.

Neither did Arthur. He tossed the underwear aside without paying attention where it would land. The tip of his tongue appeared between his teeth, running along the edge as he took a deep breath.

His nostrils flared when he let it out again.

“It feels like I’ve been waiting to do this for forever,” he said.

Gwen didn’t know where this brave woman came from when she was half-naked like this, but this same woman rested her foot on his shoulder and said, “So you’re waiting now…why?”

He chuckled. “Never let it be said I leave a woman wanting.”

That was the last thing Gwen would have ever said about him, especially when he ran his hand up the calf next to his cheek, all the way to her now bare hip. Strong fingers slithered beneath her ass, and in a clean, quick jerk, he tugged her closer to the edge of the mattress.

She fought to maintain her composure, but the façade was quickly crumbling as his other hand smoothed up the fragile skin of her inner thigh. He wasn’t watching her anymore. His whole focus was on her pussy, his color high, his eyes gleaming. When he nuzzled against the skin he’d only just touched, each inhalation was further testimony at how turned on he was, like he couldn’t get enough of either sight or smell.

Within seconds, he added taste.

His tongue darted out, his head too bowed now for her to see exactly where on her leg he was licking. She felt it, though, so close to the junction of hip and thigh, a scant couple inches to where she dripped in rising anticipation. Higher and higher he went, each second an eternity. Her breath grew shorter. Her lungs would burst before he ever—

The cry strangled in her throat when she felt the first swipe across her outer lips. Her head fell back, and her hand shot out to grip the back of his head. It wasn’t to pull him closer, though that certainly wouldn’t hurt. She just needed him not to stop.

He guided her other leg over his shoulder, laying her open for him to feast upon. He didn’t fight the hold she had tangled in his hair, but gave into it, angling his head to better nibble at every inch of exposed flesh. Hands splayed along her thighs, his thumbs first spreading her labia, then skimming inside. He slipped through her juices to trace around her opening, never venturing high enough to touch her clit. She tried squirming closer, but he was too strong, his arms too firmly braced.

“Arthur…”

This time when she said his name, it was with intent. Desperate, needy, quivering like a single reed caught in a gale. He had only just begun and already she felt like she was about to be undone.

Perhaps she’d been approaching this state from the first moment he looked at her and actually saw the girl behind the glasses.

He never stopped. Where his thumbs didn’t touch her, his tongue did. He didn’t shy away from tasting her everywhere he could find, licking around and between her lips in torturous sweeps, until finally - _finally_ \- he flicked the tip of his tongue across her clit.

She bucked upward, sparks spreading like wildfire across her skin and through her veins, burning everything in their wake. Arthur pressed her back to the bed, and circled her clit again, this time letting his tooth catch on the sensitive bundle of nerves.

She decided then and there she would never support any kind of dental work if it meant never getting to feel that exquisite pleasure again.

“Don’t stop.” Her voice was ragged, her breathing more so. In her ears, her heart beat a furious tympani. “Arthur, please…”

The last word broke, shattered by the sensation of his thumbs sliding into her wet passage. She clamped down around him automatically, welcoming the fullness, but he gave her no room to adjust, stroking in and out of her in a slow, deadly rhythm, all the while nibbling and sucking at her clit. At some point tonight, she was going to get more than his fingers, but for now, it was exactly what she needed, that extra assault on her trembling flesh as she climbed to even greater heights than before.

When she heard muffled sounds, she thought she was imagining things. It took a moment to realize they came from Arthur, hungry kind of moans that vibrated against her thigh whenever his cheek glanced across it. More reverberations went straight into her pussy, joining the swell, and she gave up trying to control it, trying to do anything but succumb to what he was doing to her.

She came with a gasp, an instant of blinding perfection where her muscles seized and her pussy clamped down around his fingers, refusing to let him go from either her body or her heart. Everything stopped, but really nothing did, because Arthur continued to devour her clit, and her pulse continued to pound out of control, and her world’s axis re-righted itself from being knocked askew in her orgasm. Vaguely, Gwen became aware of just how tightly she’d threaded her fingers through Arthur’s hair, and slowly eased her hold, caressing instead of clinging as the shudders wracking through her finally began to slow.

Her legs fell limp. One slid off Arthur’s shoulder as she collapsed backward onto the bed.

“There is no way I could ever do that standing on a ladder,” she said.

Arthur laughed. Licking across her opening one last time, he straightened to half-cover her body on the bed, holding himself up on his knuckles. The tie he still wore dangled between them. If she’d had any kind of strength left in her arms, she would have grabbed onto it and never let go.

“I think this was a more than adequate substitute for the library,” he said.

Though his erection rested heavily against her lower stomach, he made no moves yet to try and see to his own release. He seemed perfectly content to just stay there for the moment, his mouth shiny with her juices, his hair mildly damp with sweat. She loved him even more for giving her the time to get her second wind.

“Whatever you want…you know I would do it for you, don’t you?” She said it on the heels of his reference to his fantasy, and knew that was likely the way he would take it. But she meant it in a broader sense, and if he pressed, she would even tell him so. Nobody had ever given her as much as Arthur had, in every definition of the word. 

His eyes softened. Balancing on one hand, he used the other to catch a curl and wind it around his fingers. “As long as you realize that’s true for me, too,” he murmured.

Emotion choked off any kind of answer she might have managed. 

The best she could do was lift her head and kiss him.

The way Arthur responded, it was enough.


	16. Chapter 16

Arthur scribbled the last of his notes in his eleven o’clock’s file, adding a reminder to himself to call the PCP with an update. This one was a success story, a young boy learning how to regain the use of his hands after a particularly vicious car accident on the motorway. He liked these best. It reassured him the work he did made a real difference.

“Mr. Pendragon?”

He glanced up to see a young auxiliary nurse, barely out of her teens, hovering on the other side of the desk. She was a float; he’d seen her in various departments throughout the hospital, though never in physio before. “Can I help you?”

“Dr. Gaius asked if I could give you a message.”

“About…?” As far as he knew, he didn’t currently have any referrals from Gaius.

“A patient just got admitted he thought you should know about. A Tom DeGrance.”

Alarm shot through Arthur. Though he sat up straighter, he maintained as calm a composure as he could as he thanked her for the information and watched her walk away. He shoved the file he’d been working on into the pending slot and grabbed the phone. Within moments, he found Tom’s location.

_Oh, hell, not Critical Care. Gwen’s not ready for this._

His hands lacked their usual certainty as he checked his schedule to make sure he could get away. Had Gwen been notified already? What had prompted this? Arthur had been concerned about Tom’s pallor and gauntness the last time he’d seen him over a week earlier, the day after the dinner with Morgana, but when he’d talked to Gwen that night, after Tom’s weekly chemo, she’d claimed everything was still going well. He hadn’t questioned her. He wasn’t an oncologist. But now he feared she’d been living in denial, when he should have been preparing her for more brutal circumstances.

He took his phone, just in case Tom was being stubborn about ringing Gwen. Though he wasn’t sure he’d even be allowed to see Tom, he could at least get an update on his status. Gaius wouldn’t have passed the message along if he didn’t want Arthur involved. Arthur had been very careful about respecting Tom’s privacy at the hospital to this point, but if this was going to impact Gwen…

Who was he kidding? Of course, it was going to impact Gwen. He could only hope she’d let him help her if Tom deteriorated.

His pulse pounded in his ears, dull and throbbing, as he made his way to Critical Care. He smiled at the people he passed, nodding more than once when others greeted him, but his path was straight and determined. He wouldn’t get waylaid by social niceties before he got to Tom.

A stop at the nurses’ station confirmed which room he was in, but Arthur didn’t make two steps before he saw Gwen outside a closed door. She had her arms wrapped tightly around her body, her movements quick and jerky. Though her face was wan and pinched, her eyes were dry, unfocused as she paced back and forth, back and forth.

He double-timed his steps, catching her elbow when she had her back to him. She stiffened and whirled around in sudden alarm, but at the first sight of him, crumpled against his chest. Folding her within his embrace was instinctive, necessary. For both of them.

“They rang me at work.” Her voice was muffled against his shirt, but he refused to loosen his arms from around her back to give her more room to speak. “I haven’t even seen him yet. Nobody will tell me anything.”

“Where’s Dr. Gaius?”

“The nurse said he’s in there with him now. The door’s been shut since I got here.”

His heart ached for her. She sounded so little and lost, so unlike her usual self. He rested his cheek on the top of her head, but the closer contact seemed to set off new tremors deep within her, her soft body vibrating against him. “Did he ring 999, or did someone find him?”

“I don’t even know that. God, Arthur, what am I going to do?”

“You’re here,” he soothed. “That’s enough.”

“It’s not. None of it has been enough.”

“Don’t say that. You two have been fighting with everything you have.”

“And for what?” She tilted her head back to stare up at him. The bleakness in the brown depths of her gaze was almost worse than her unshed tears. “We still ended up here. He’s still sick. What was the point of hoping if none of it even mattered?”

“It _did_ matter.” He kept his voice firm, but gentle, trying to keep her focused. “You don’t even know what happened. Don’t assume the worst until we have more information.”

“Can you…” When she glanced past him toward the nurses’ station, she caught the corner of her mouth and began to chew on it. He knew what she wanted, but he recognized the ethical dilemma she faced, too.

He also knew he’d do whatever he could to ease her burden. Even if it meant bending a rule or two.

“Let me see what I can find out.” Letting her go hurt him as much as it did her. He cupped her face and forced her to meet his eyes. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. I promise.”

When she gave him a brief nod, he ran his thumb along her jaw in one last caress before turning to the closed door. He knocked once in hospital courtesy, then pushed it open.

Dr. Gaius blocked his view of the bed, as did the two nurses who stood with him. At Arthur’s entrance, they glanced back, but Dr. Gaius quickly returned to the file he held in his hand, relaying the last of his immediate notes to the two women. Arthur waited by the door for him to finish, trying his hardest not to fidget or look around them for a glimpse of Tom. Gaius was one of the best doctors in the entire hospital. He had to trust him, even if he was worried to death about Tom’s well-being.

With his instructions given, Gaius handed over the file and stepped to Arthur’s side. “You got my message, then.”

Arthur nodded. “What happened?”

“He rang and complained the pain was crippling, so they brought him in. When I asked, he told me he hadn’t had a movement in days.” Gaius looked grim. “Xrays show a tumor wrapped around his bowels. It’s obstructing everything.”

His gut clenched. “Can you remove it?”

“I don’t know. His counts weren’t good when he was admitted. I’m waiting for the rest of his results before we determine the next step. Right now, I’m focusing on keeping him as comfortable as possible.”

Nobody could ask for more, though he wished he could give Gwen better news. If surgery wasn’t an option, Tom’s prognosis became a lot more dire, and all the strength she’d shown in recent weeks would be put to the test. The real test.

“Gwen needs to see him.”

“She’s here?”

“Outside. She’s worried sick.”

Gaius sighed. “Is she angry?”

“She will be if she doesn’t find out what’s going on.”

“She won’t like what she hears.”

“She’ll like it less if you’re not completely honest with her.”

“I know.” Another sigh. “I’ve dreaded this day since Tom was first diagnosed. Gwen has always…felt things deeply.”

Silently, Arthur agreed. He’d known about the heavier emotions from the start, but what Gaius couldn’t recognize was how richly she felt joy, too. She became incandescent, and whether she noticed it or not, people were drawn to her. Even Morgana had gone out of her way to call Arthur after the dinner just to gush about how much she liked Gwen.

“If you want me to tell her—”

“No,” Gaius interrupted. “I’ll take care of it. She’ll have questions I’ll have to answer.” He looked at the door. “If I can.”

Arthur let Gaius walk out first, waiting several seconds before following. Gwen had returned to her earlier pose, all wrapped tight around her arms as if to keep herself from flying apart, but as much as he wanted to go to her, he didn’t want to distract her from what Gaius explained. He simply…waited. Until she would need him again. Giving her the space to garner the strength inside he knew she would find.

The moment came when Gaius was done, when he stepped away to give her space to enter Tom’s room. She nodded once, her eyes downcast. She had yet to cry or otherwise break down. A single, shuddering breath lifted her shoulders, and when she exhaled, she tilted her head up, and saw Arthur leaning against the wall on the other side of the door.

He offered a half-smile. _I’m here._

Her mouth tightened, and she brushed past Gaius. When she reached for the door knob, her free hand found Arthur, fingers trailing down his arm. She folded over his waiting hand, dry and quivering, and squeezed until her knuckles turned white.

Their eyes met. Though she didn’t speak, he heard her just the same.

_I know._

He could still feel her hand on his when she pushed her way into Tom’s room.

* * *

_Wake up. Just wake up. That’s not so hard, Dad. All you have to do is open your eyes. Is that really asking so much? Please. Do it for me. I won’t ask you to do anything else if you’ll just wake up._

He never stirred. No matter how much Gwen sat next to him and wished for it, his eyelashes didn’t flicker, his hands didn’t twitch, he didn’t even make a sound. Dr. Gaius had warned her that the sedative they’d used was a powerful one – he needed the rest, since his sleep had been so disturbed from the pain, and God, how she hated herself for not having realized he was hiding the truth from her for over a week – but she still held out hope that Tom would somehow sense that she was there. That she needed to see him. That she needed to assure him he was going to be all right.

That was a lie. She needed to assure herself. And the longer he stayed asleep, the harder that got.

She didn’t leave his room. The nurses came and went, and Dr. Gaius showed up two more times, but nobody told Gwen she had to go. When she had to use the toilet, she used his private one rather than the public facility down the hall. Even then, she went as quickly as she could, fearful he’d wake up while she was gone. She refused to let him believe she’d ever walk away from him. Her face had to be the first thing he saw when he opened his eyes again. He had to remember they were fighting this together, no matter what.

Boredom crept in around four, and she began to wish she’d thought to bring a book with her from the library. She ransacked his room in search of any kind of reading material. Her only option was a tattered copy of the _Daily Mail Weekend_ , dated over three months ago.

She read it cover to cover. Twice. Including all the television show descriptions.

At five-forty, a knock at the door startled her. She twisted around to stare at it for a minute, wondering if somebody was lost. Everybody else had just walked in. After all, a sleeping man could hardly call out for someone to enter, could he?

As she debated what to do, the door cracked a few inches, and Merlin’s smiling face appeared in the opening. “Can I come in?” he asked.

Gwen rose and went to pull the door wider. “Of course.”

He carried a large satchel, the thick strap going across his chest, and his dark hair was windblown as if he’d just come in from one of his balloon rides. He glanced past her once, but only once, then met her eyes with his own gentle gaze.

“Arthur rang and told me what happened,” he said. “I’m so sorry, Gwen.”

She tried to smile. Perhaps, if it had been a stranger, she could have managed it. It was infinitely easier to pretend in front of people you didn’t know. But with Merlin, she failed, and when she realized how badly, she clamped her lips tight and just nodded.

“He’s got patients until seven,” Merlin went on. “So I thought I’d come and keep you company until he shows.” He pulled the satchel’s strap over his head. “I’ve got playing cards, some books, water. Or if you want me to run and get you something, I could do that, too. Just tell me what you need, Gwen.”

The shivers that had been rampaging through her ever since she’d arrived at the hospital rippled up and down her arms again. Turning away, Gwen rubbed her hands over them as she stared at Tom’s sleeping form. 

_I need him to wake up._

Merlin couldn’t do that, though. He was a wonderful, generous friend, but he was hardly a miracle worker.

“Sit and talk to me?” She punctuated her request by grabbing the other chair in the room and pulling it closer to hers. “I’ve been stuck in my own head all day, and…well, I’d like to be out of it for a while.”

He nodded and straddled the chair, letting the satchel drop to the floor beside him. Folding his arms along the high back, he rested his chin on them as he regarded her with sympathy. 

“Have the doctors said anything new?” he asked, his voice quiet and solemn.

Gwen shook her head. “Just that they can’t operate until they get his blood counts up. It’s too dangerous, apparently.” She snorted softly. “I would’ve thought having a tumor squeezing your colon in half would be more dangerous, but I suppose I’m not the expert here.”

“They’ll do everything they can.”

“I know. I _know_.” Repeating it didn’t actually make it easier to believe, though. “Dr. Gaius has been very understanding. Arthur says we’re lucky to have him.”

“Then you are. Arthur wouldn’t tell you that just to make you feel better.”

“I’m not sure anything can make me feel better at this point. I just…if they can’t operate, and this…” She felt like she was choking, like the emotions tumbling around inside her had solidified and settled in her throat, and all she could do was gulp for air in hopes of clearing it. She refused to cry. For some reason, it seemed that giving in to that particular impulse would be the last bastion of hope breaking down. If she stayed strong, if she put her best face forward, maybe, just maybe, everything would work out for the best.

But keeping the tears at bay got harder with each minute he stayed asleep. It was exhausting, trying to hold them off.

Merlin reached out and covered her shaking hand with his own. His touch was different than Arthur’s. Where Arthur was a rock, solid and sure and unbreakable, bearing the load as much as she did, Merlin was more like crutches, nimble and strong in a different way, lending whatever support she wanted to take. 

“Breathe,” he murmured. “Focus on that. You don’t have to talk about it if it’s just going to upset you more.”

He was giving her an out, and for a moment, she embraced the option. Bottle it away, pretend it didn’t exist, hide from the world in her books and the library and anything that wasn’t the hospital. Feelings were easier when they weren’t for anything real. 

Before Arthur, she might have even done it. The thing of it was…she needed something different now.

Arthur had shown her it was all right to open her heart up to someone else, that exposing yourself didn’t necessarily mean you were going to be hurt or ridiculed for doing so. He’d helped her come to believe in the highs and lows that came with that disclosure, because the rewards from both couldn’t be attained in any other way. He’d taught her what it meant to be desired, to know that beauty wasn’t something to be measured by unrealistic standards, but to be found in the most unexpected places. Like someone’s first smile of the day. Or their last smile at night.

He’d shown her joy. Real joy. Pure. Unrestrained. 

Slowly, Gwen shook her head. With Arthur, she was alive, and being alive meant experiencing everything that came with it, not sticking her fingers in her ears and declaiming the real world at the top of her lungs. “It’s just that,” she tried again, her voice pitched lower to make it easier to breathe, “if they can’t do something about this, this is it, it’s just me that’s left. All on my own. And, Merlin…I don’t know how to do that.”

His hand tightened over hers. The tip of his mouth was slight but definitely there. “You might be one of the smartest girls I’ve ever met, but you’re wrong there.”

She blinked at him, uncomprehending. “How?”

“Because you won’t be on your own. You’ve got Arthur, and me, and the quiz team. You have friends, Gwen. People who care about you. No matter how alone you feel, you’re not.” His smile widened. “Besides, Arthur’s rather the persistent type, in case you haven’t noticed. And you mean the world to him. Do you really think he’d let you deal with this on your own?”

The picture of him standing there in the hallway, startling her when she’d been pacing in front of Tom’s room waiting for answers, blocked out everything else. She’d seen the compassion in his eyes and had known in the space of a single heartbeat that she’d needed him there without even realizing it. Except he had known. And he’d acted. And now, because he understood just what it was she was feeling, he had acted again by sending Merlin to her until he could arrive himself.

She smiled, and though it was wan and difficult, she meant it this time. “He can be stubborn, I suppose.”

“Lucky for us, right?” With one last squeeze, he let her go, settling into his chair again. “I know it’s hard. Arthur knows it, too. Use us, abuse us, do whatever you need to make it easier. That’s what we’re here for.”

“You deserve better than that.”

“So do you.” His bald statement didn’t actually come as a shock. “Remember that.”

That was the difficult part. But with their help, she was going to try.


	17. Chapter 17

Arthur made a mental note to make it up to each and every patient he had after leaving Gwen in Tom’s room, but it still didn’t stop him from racing out of the department as soon as he’d charted the last one, and bolting for Critical Care. No more messages had come through, so he could only hope for the best. At this point, he’d settle for merely all right if it meant Gwen was saved any more heartache.

Visiting hours only had ten minutes left when he got out of the lift on Tom’s floor. He nodded at the nurse as he passed her station, and scanned around for any sign of Dr. Gaius without breaking his pace. Nothing. Another reason to hope.

Tom’s door stood ajar several inches, affording him a glimpse inside before he pushed it wider. Merlin lounged in a chair against the wall, his long legs stretched out in front of him as he flipped through a book, while Gwen’s seat was pulled up near the foot of the bed. Arthur’s heart flipped at the sight of her head resting on her folded arms. He was extra careful to keep it quiet as he slipped inside.

Merlin looked up from his book and gave him a little wave in greeting. Arthur nodded back, but his gaze was fixed on Gwen. His new viewpoint revealed her face, and now, he could see the dark fan of her eyelashes against her cheeks. She was asleep.

“How is he?” Arthur whispered, jerking his chin toward Tom.

Merlin’s tone matched his. “The same.”

“What about surgery?”

“Not happening.”

_Damn it._ Gwen needed better news than that.

“She nodded off about half an hour ago,” Merlin added. “I tried distracting her, but…”

No, Arthur understood. She’d likely crashed after the adrenaline rush had worn off. “Thanks for trying.”

He stepped forward gingerly, doing his best to keep quiet. When he reached her side, he crouched down, tilting his head to better see her face. In repose, all of the tightness at the corners of her mouth disappeared, and the little line between her eyebrows eased. She still seemed pale to him, but at least she looked relaxed. No bad dreams disrupted her slumber.

Catching a tendril of her hair, he coiled it around his finger, then released it to watch it fall against her cheek again. “Gwen,” he said softly. He brushed his knuckles over the same angle the curl had taken, and repeated, “Gwen.”

Her eyes moved behind her closed lids, and her breathing began to quicken. As he waited for her to waken more fully, he continued caressing her face, doing his best to convey a sense of calm. She needed stability right now, not the jarring that usually came from emerging from sleep. He’d be as patient as it took for her.

An inquisitive sound came from her throat, followed immediately by a long, drawn-out sigh. Her lashes fluttered, but her eyelids were sluggish to respond, like they weighed too much to work properly.

“Visiting hours are just about over, Gwen,” he murmured. “It’s time to go.”

That did the trick. Her shoulders stiffened, and when she finally looked over at him, the tension in her features was back and firmly rooted. “No,” she said, sitting up. “I have to stay.” She peered past him, at Tom’s unmoving form. “He’s going to wake up. I have to be here when he does.”

“At this hour, they’re going to try and keep him asleep, even if he does wake up.” He pointed at the IV, dripping steadily into the crook of Tom’s arm. “When the next duty nurse comes in, she’ll add another sedative to keep him settled for the night.”

“I should still be here.”

“So he can see you keeping vigil?” Arthur shook his head. “I know you want to be here, Gwen, but if he did wake up, he’d know it’s nighttime. He’d know you should be in your bed, fast asleep. He sees you, and he’s going to think the worst. Is that really what you want?”

He hated pulling her away from Tom’s bedside. If he had any say in the matter, he’d let her spend the night because he was nearly positive Tom wasn’t going to stir. But the hospital kept the visiting hours for a reason, especially in Critical Care. Exceptions were made, but usually only for the worst scenarios. He didn’t want Gwen realizing they might only let her stay because they didn’t think he’d last the night.

The eyes she turned to him were dark and desolate. “But I can’t go home,” she whispered.

She didn’t elaborate as to why. She didn’t need to.

“You don’t have to.” He caught one of her hands and gently pulled her to her feet. She had creases on her cheek from where she’d been sleeping, and he smiled as he skimmed his fingertips along them. “Spend the night at the flat. It’s closer to the hospital anyway. You can be here quicker in the morning, then.” 

Her lingering uncertainty, as well as her continued glances up at Tom, prompted him to pull her farther away from the bed. 

“You have to make arrangements for work, right?” he went on. “And I’ll let Dr. Gaius know where you’ll be staying. They can add my numbers to your file in case they need to get a hold of you.” Taking the choice away from her was the best option. With her thoughts locked on Tom, she wasn’t thinking rationally at this point. “You left some clothes at my place last time. I’ll toss them in the wash when we get home, so you can have something clean for tomorrow.”

After a moment, she nodded. Her fingers tightened momentarily around his.

Arthur led her out of the room, leaving Merlin to gather up their things and follow. She remained mute as he talked to the nurse on duty and left explicit instructions about how Gwen was to be contacted, and maintained that silence all the way out to his car. Several rows down, he spotted her Skoda and noted how crooked her parking job was. She was lucky she hadn’t got herself into an accident coming from the library. He held her hand a few seconds longer than necessary before finally letting her slide into the passenger seat.

Her withdrawal continued all the way home. He ached to hold her by the time he opened the door into his darkened flat, but he had to wait as Merlin bounded up the stairs behind them and announced he was putting on the kettle. Arthur didn’t deny tea would do Gwen some good, but her easy acquiescence was starting to worry him. He didn’t want her locked in her fears. They would eat her alive.

It was too early for bed, and Gwen made no mention of wanting to retire, so after they’d taken care of the washing and she’d called the library to get out of work the next day, they sat on the couch and turned the telly on. Arthur tried getting her to pick the movie, but she demurred to Merlin’s choice. Neither one of them paid much attention to the comedy Merlin popped in. Arthur was too busy trying to keep her trembling at bay, pulling her closer into his side every time she sighed.

He felt helpless. The thing he liked best about his job was how it could have definitive results. Manipulate this specific muscle a certain number of times, get this specific response in return. Cause, effect. Something tangible exchanged for something tangible.

He didn’t know what to do to make Gwen feel better. There wasn’t an exercise he could prescribe to alleviate her impending grief. He couldn’t massage it away, or tease it out in the open. He wasn’t even sure he could get her to talk about it, though he was starting to wish he’d taken the time to talk to Merlin longer to find out what _he_ had done with Gwen. Maybe then he’d have a clearer plan than just holding her all night.

But he didn’t. So he stayed like that for the next three hours, occasionally brushing a kiss across the top of her head, constantly stroking her arm or caressing the back of her hand in a show of support.

At eleven o’clock, Gwen tensed and pulled away. “Can we go to bed now?”

They were the first words she’d said since hanging up the phone. Arthur was hardly going to ignore them.

“Of course.”

They both murmured good nights to Merlin. Gwen took Arthur’s hand and gently guided him to the bedroom.

When she ignored the light, so did he, though he nearly bumped into her when she stopped in front of him. She turned around and rested her palms flat against his chest. In the stray light filtering from the window, he saw her tilt her head back and gaze up at him. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

He frowned, glad she probably couldn’t see it. “For what?”

“Being such a wet blanket tonight.”

“Don’t.” His hands curved around her waist. “You’re _not_.”

“Thank you for sending Merlin to the hospital. It helped.”

“Good. I’m glad.”

“Do you have patients tomorrow?”

“Some.” He hated having to admit that. “I’m done at one, though. I’ll bring lunch and we can eat together.”

Her fingers itched upward, pushing past his collar to stroke the skin at the base of his neck and along his collarbone. “I’d like that.”

He wished it was more, but with her hands almost delicately exploring what skin she could find, he was having difficulty thinking about tomorrow. His body craved hers, even now, in the face of her whirlwind emotions. Bowing his head, he found her lips and kissed her with all the gentleness he could muster. He didn’t need light to find her. He would be able to do so in the darkest pits, with only his instincts to guide him.

She whimpered against his mouth, her lips parting to invite him in. Though this was what he wanted, he deliberately held back from plunging forward, keeping it delicate and simple and coaxing her into slowing as well. Her arms slid around his neck. Soft breasts pressed against his chest. His body hardened in anticipation of claiming her for his own, but it was the need in her kiss, the way she clung to him in every possible way, that stole his breath away.

Time became meaningless. The minutes that had stretched interminably during the day, keeping them apart, keeping him away from her, now worked in his favor, melding them together as she took solace in his embrace. Hands found bare skin, hers first, quivering from emotion or desire or any number of reasons Arthur refused to dissect, then his as he stripped her for their mutual pleasure. Wherever she felt cold, he warmed. Wherever she trembled, he soothed. By the time the back of her legs touched the edge of his bed, they were both panting with the need for more – more than what they could find groping each other in the dark, more than what they’d been forced to hold off on in their separation of the day.

Gwen laid down, and her legs opened, giving him room to settle between them. Her hands fluttered around his shoulders, suddenly unsure, and he bent his head to brush his mouth over the back of her thumb. There were things he wanted to say, sentiments he wanted to share with her, but now seemed like the wrong time to force them upon her. She needed something other than words. Finally, something he could do for her that would at least temporarily blunt her pain.

He kissed her the entire time he fumbled with the condom. When she became impatient, he let her grasp his cock and guide him to her opening, raining softer kisses along her jaw, down the side of her neck the entire time. She was wet for him, which was more of a relief than he expected. It proved she wanted this as much as she needed it, and he pushed forward slowly, taking the time to allow both of them to adjust to the new pressure.

She found the fortitude to wrap her arms around his shoulders, drawing him more firmly atop her. Her lips hovered at his ear, and he heard her soft inhalation a moment before she breathed, “Love me.”

The request nearly broke him. Because it wasn’t just about now, about what they were doing. It was about tomorrow and the day after that and Gwen’s need to not feel alone in the world, no matter what happened with Tom. Arthur turned his head to nuzzle against her cheek, and squeezed his eyes shut against the sudden onslaught of feelings her words brought in him. He almost spoke. He wanted to tell her exactly what she did to him, how much brighter the world was for having her in it. The only reason he didn’t was because he didn’t want to give her an excuse later on to deny his vow. He could hear her arguing that he’d said it to make her feel better, and that she was grateful for everything he did for her but that it didn’t have to mean anything.

But it did. And he’d wait however long it took until he knew she would believe him.

They moved together, long, deep strokes that buried him fully inside her before he slowly withdrew. Her legs wrapped around his, the points of her heels digging deliciously into his flesh. The kisses resumed, neither one of them content with their absence, and just as before, he lost time.

That didn’t matter. As long as he didn’t lose Gwen, he could bear anything else.

He didn’t push for her orgasm, but it came anyway, with a soft cry and an arch away from the bed as her entire body shuddered beneath his. His thrusts didn’t stop, though he did slow for a few seconds to relish her release. Soon enough, she was spurring him to quicken his pace, biting at his neck with little nibbles that did as much to pull his balls tight as the still rippling muscles of her pussy did.

He came with a groan she swallowed, her mouth fused over his. Sweat glued their bodies together, and the salty tang of it prickled his nose as he came floating back to earth. He smiled into the kiss, but it was short-lived, the dig of her nails into his back reminding him of her precarious emotions.

Leaving the heat of her body threatened to hollow him out, but her quick curl against his chest when he rolled to the side compensated for the loss. He peeled away the condom and tossed it onto the nightstand, too eager to get his arms around her again to worry about doing anything more with it until morning. 

“You should sleep,” he murmured.

“So should you.”

Her breath tickled across his damp skin. Absently, he ran his fingertips up and down her side. “I will. Once I know you’re out.”

“You’re always taking care of me.”

“Not always.”

“Feels like it.”

“No. Only when you need me to.”

She sighed. A single arm snaked around his waist to tighten her hold on him. He waited for her to say something more, but soon, all he heard was the slow rhythm of her breath.

He took longer to fall asleep. 

Just in case.


	18. Chapter 18

Spending the night with Arthur gave Gwen strength to forge new hope when she returned to the hospital the next morning. She’d been hit hard the day before, and she’d let it weigh her down as she sat vigil at Tom’s side, but today was a brand new start. The hospital hadn’t called, so he was obviously doing fine. Dr. Gaius hadn’t completely ruled out the surgery, either. All it would take was getting Tom more stable, and then, they could remove the tumor that was causing so much havoc. Problem solved.

They could do this. _She_ could do this. 

A nurse smiled and nodded at her as Gwen passed the station and headed for Tom’s room. His door stood open, and the muffled sound of voices drifted from within. Gwen quickened her pace, her heart accelerating as well. The sight of Tom speaking with Dr. Gaius greeted her when she crossed the room’s threshold, and she burst forward with an extra rush of energy to get to his side.

“Is this a party?” she asked with a smile. “Is just anyone invited?”

Though his wasn’t quite as wide, Tom returned her smile. “And let all the riffraff in? Hardly.”

Laughing, she bent to kiss his cheek. He was making jokes. Another excellent sign. “As long as you left some of the vol au vents for me.” She straightened. “Good morning, Dr. Gaius.”

“Good morning, Gwen.”

“What did I miss?”

“Dr. Gaius was just filling me in on what happened yesterday,” Tom replied. “I don’t remember much after I got to hospital.”

She patted his arm, careful to avoid the IV. “That’s because you were asleep all day. I’d be more worried if you did remember.”

“I’m still waiting for the results of his last blood draw,” Dr. Gaius said. “I’ll have more news after that.”

“Is it possible he could have the surgery today?”

His lips pressed tightly together, and he took a moment longer than made her comfortable to respond. “Possible. I’m not sure probable.”

Taking Tom’s hand in hers, Gwen squeezed in comfort. “Well, we’ll just hope for the best, won’t we, Dad?”

He squeezed back. “Always.”

“I’ll leave you two to your visit,” Dr. Gaius said, closing the file he held and tucking it under his arm. “If you need anything, Tom, just call for the nurse.”

“I will.” When the door clicked shut behind the doctor, Tom sighed. “I’m sorry about yesterday, Gwen. I didn’t mean to worry you.”

She had to let him go to retrieve her chair, but as soon as she was settled again at his side, she took up his hand again. “It bothers me more you never told me what was going on,” she said. “We could’ve been to see the doctor before it got so bad they couldn’t operate.”

“It felt like more of the same. I didn’t want you to fuss over what was nothing.”

“But it wasn’t nothing.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“If you’d—”

“Can we not argue about this?” His eyes pleaded with hers. The jaundice made them appear more sunken than usual, though it could’ve just been the added thinness from not having eaten properly in over a week. She felt a tad guilty for not having seen it before, but she’d been more worried about him waking up than how healthy he appeared. “What’s done is done. We can’t change it. We can only go on from here. And I’d much prefer to hear about you than anything more with this damn illness.”

Gwen shrugged. “There’s nothing going on with me.”

“There’s Arthur.”

Had the nurses told Tom about yesterday? Or had it been Dr. Gaius? He couldn’t know she’d spent the night at Arthur’s last night, could he?

“You’ve been seeing a lot of him,” Tom prompted when she didn’t answer right away. 

Gwen nodded. “I have.”

“Met his family.”

“For better or worse, yes.”

“I like that he’s got you getting out more often. I’ve always thought you deserved better than what you gave yourself.”

“My life was just fine, thank you very much.”

“I’m not saying it wasn’t,” Tom protested. “But why settle for fine when you can have so much more?”

It was hard to argue with that particular point, especially when she agreed with him. “I’d like to have him over more when you get home,” she braved. “I’d like you two to have more opportunities to get to know each other.”

“He’s always welcome. You know that.”

“You tried keeping him out the night I ran into his father at his flat.”

“You came home crying after seeing him. I might be sick, but you’re still my daughter. I’ll fight for you to my last breath, Gwen.”

She knew that, but hearing the words said out loud struck the point home more deeply than she’d expected. She bent her head briefly to hide the prickle of tears at the back of her eyes, and took a soothing breath to calm her fluttering emotions. 

“So would Arthur,” she said softly. “You can trust that.” She did, after all. His actions the previous day, as well as everything else he’d done in the time they’d known each other, proved it, over and over again.

“Do you love him?”

Her head snapped up. The way Tom chuckled said it was written all over her face.

“It’s nothing to be embarrassed about.” He reached for her hand, his thin fingers cool where they curled into hers. “It happens to the best of us.”

“I know, I just…I thought…”

“You haven’t told him, have you?”

Mutely, she shook her head.

“Ah, there’s my Gwen. Always playing her cards so close to the vest.”

“It’s too soon. I don’t want to frighten him away.”

He cocked his brows. “Gwen, luv, if he’s stuck around through all of what we’ve been going through, he’s not going anywhere.”

Deep inside, she knew that to be true, but the timing was still wrong to share her feelings with Arthur. Tom wouldn’t understand. He hadn’t been there every time she’d leaned on Arthur in a time of need. Arthur couldn’t think she was merely grateful for his presence. He had to know she loved him because of who he was and everything he had to offer, not just the broad shoulders and understanding demeanor.

“We haven’t forced him to sit through one of your snooker rallies,” she said, trying to lighten the mood again. “That could put him off me for a lifetime.”

Tom’s laughter wasn’t as rich as it usually was, wracking in the middle as he grimaced from unexpected pain. She held her breath and waited for him to ride out the wave, doing everything she could to quell the terror that rose inside her at the prospect his discomfort was increasing.

“We’ll arrange for something the day I go home,” he promised. “We’ll make a party of it. I’ll invite the guys from work, and you can have Arthur and your new friends.”

“We could make it fancy dress. Everyone comes as their favorite person from history.”

“Too boring. Let’s make it their favorite East Enders character.”

“How is that more exciting than historical characters?”

“It’s not. But I could actually name some of them.”

They laughed and chatted about the party they would throw to celebrate, tossing out outrageous idea after outrageous idea until Gwen thought her sides would split from merriment. It’d been too long since they’d been this relaxed. The specter of Tom’s cancer always hung between them, too forbidding to even consider ignoring in such a blatant way. She didn’t know why being in the hospital, where illness was all around them and the threat to his health as high as ever, could bring them so close together when everything else had failed, but she wasn’t going to knock it. Whatever it took. Strength in the face of adversity. After all, she’d learned it from Tom.

The one thing that surprised her was how often he kept bringing Arthur back into the conversation. Questions about his job, his schedule, his likes and dislikes. She had to reassure him time and time again that Arthur was different than other men he might know, that he was solid and courageous and kind-hearted even if his appearance and upbringing might suggest a high and mighty attitude. She even told him about how he’d sent Merlin to keep her company the day before. 

“That’s perfectly typical of him,” she said. “He couldn’t be here himself, so he did the next best thing.”

Her defense seemed to finally do the trick, though she wasn’t sure if Tom’s gradual quieting on the subject was about that or his waning energy. Her answer came when he sighed heavily and shut his eyes.

“Be a luv, and get me some Smarties or something from the vending machine, would you?” he said.

She frowned. “You want sweets when you haven’t been able to eat properly in a week? I don’t think so, Dad.”

“Then get me a Coke. Or juice.” He opened his eyes again and smiled wanly up at her. “I just want the sugar. It’ll keep me going so I can enjoy your company today.”

“I’ll ask the nurse—”

“So she can say no? What harm’s it going to do? Please, Gwen. If I complain about being tired, you know they’ll give me something to make me sleep. You don’t want that, do you?”

No, she didn’t, but she wasn’t entirely comfortable acting independently of the hospital orders, either. Candy was out of the question, no matter how much he might want it. Soda was, too. There was no telling what the caffeine would do to him. Juice, on the other hand, might not be so bad, if she got something less acidic.

“All right,” she conceded. “I’ll go see what I can find.” She lifted a warning finger. “Don’t you dare tell on me, though. Or I’ll them exactly who put me up to it.”

His promise carried her out of the room on a cloud of hope. Wanting something other than hospital fare had to be a sign things were improving. Half of the battle was mental attitude. She’d read enough stories online to know that. There was one woman in the support group she’d finally introduced herself to whose mother had been diagnosed over six years ago. Doctors had been certain she wouldn’t live out the year, but the mother’s mulish temperament, as well as the family’s persistence in pursuing every means possible to keep her alive, had made liars out of them.

Regardless of this current development, Tom would be another of those success stories. Gwen had to believe that. And not only because Tom did.

She had to go down two floors to find vending machines with drinks, and those didn’t have anything but soda. The nurse she asked directed her to the machines in the lobby, and half an hour later, Gwen was back on her way upstairs, with two Ribenas for Tom and a pack of crisps for herself to show for it. She was humming under her breath when she stepped off the lift. The rest of the day was looking up. Arthur would join them after his last patient, and she’d have both of her men there to make her happy.

The nurse’s station was empty when she passed by. Frowning, Gwen glanced down the hall in both directions. She’d learned yesterday they only ever left it when there was an emergency on the ward. The corridor to the right was deserted, devoid even of support staff, but the opposite way was a different story.

For Gwen, the world tunneled down to Tom’s open door. Her feet moved of their own accord, slowly at first, then breaking into an awkward run when she realized the voices she heard came from inside. Her heel slipped on the slick tile, and her hand shot out to steady herself from falling, but she caught the edge of the wall wrong and sent pain shooting up her wrist.

She didn’t feel it. She didn’t feel anything. She was too busy trying to get to the room and find out what was wrong.

A large nurse she didn’t recognize blocked the doorway. Gwen saw past her in time to catch a glimpse of Dr. Gaius standing over Tom, his hands working unseen along his body. 

“You’ll have to step outside, miss,” the nurse said.

Gwen tried to elbow her way past. “That’s my father!”

The room didn’t sound right. Beyond the added murmurs and shuffling steps, something was missing, something she couldn’t quite put a finger on. She knocked away the nurse’s outstretched hands, and ducked beneath her arm, only to be stopped by Dr. Gaius’s sharp glance in her direction.

“Get her out of here,” he barked.

The nurse curled an arm around her shoulder, while a different man grabbed her other arm. She didn’t recognize him, either. Why didn’t she know any of these people in Tom’s room?

“What’s going on?” she demanded when they were out in the hall. “What happened?”

“Dr. Gaius will be out in a minute.”

They disappeared back into the room without further explanation, shutting the door on her this time. The distinct click of the lock sent her heart skittering into her throat.

Gwen pressed her ear to the door, desperate for any hint of what might be happening. They had no right to shut her out. None. Tom needed her, no matter what Dr. Gaius might think. She had his juice, for Christ’s sake. She couldn’t let him down when he’d asked so little of her. They had to let her in. She could stay out of their way. All they had to do was tell her where to stand. But she had to be in there, didn’t they understand that?

_He needs me._

And then…

_I need him._

She was numb by the time the door opened. The sudden lack of something solid had her stumbling inside, but strong hands righted her again before she could fall. She straightened to peer into Dr. Gaius’s face, his eyes dark and somber, his mouth downturned.

“I’m sorry, Gwen,” he said. “He’s gone.”

Her gaze whipped around his shoulder. The nurse who’d pushed her out stood at Tom’s bedside, writing something in his file. Tom’s eyes were closed, and in the hospital’s harsh light, his features seemed skeletal. Like he’d wasted away in the thirty minutes she’d been gone.

“I was just…”

Her voice faded. The missing sound. The one she hadn’t been able to ascertain when she’d been in here before. She knew what it was.

The machine they’d had hooked up to record Tom’s vital signs was silent.


	19. Chapter 19

Arthur’s step had a bounce to it as he walked through the hospital corridors, aiming for Critical Care. The day couldn’t have gone better if he’d planned it that way, and with lunch with Gwen on the horizon, it could only improve.

Waking up with Gwen spooned in front of him? Check.

Hearing the sleepy “I don’t ever want to leave this bed” as the first thing out of her mouth? Check.

Chatting over breakfast about their plans for the day? Check.

His patients had all been hard-working and complaint-free. Twice, the auxiliary nurse on duty brought him coffee without his asking, though he suspected it had more to do with the fact that she had a mild crush on him rather than taking on duties outside her realm of responsibility. Merlin had left a message for him saying he wouldn’t be home that night, so Arthur and Gwen could have the flat entirely to themselves.

And now, he had the entire rest of his day free to spend with Gwen and Tom. When visiting hours were over, he’d whisk Gwen away for dinner and maybe a movie, then back home where they could take full advantage of the empty flat. Perhaps starting with spreading her out on the kitchen table to feast on her for dessert.

Oh, yes. The perfect day.

He greeted the nurse on duty in Critical Care with a smile, though her response wasn’t nearly as cheerful. Nobody stopped him as he headed for Tom’s room, but when he poked his head in and saw an orderly stripping the bed, he paused for the first time since leaving his department. He glanced at the room number. Same as yesterday. Had Tom been moved to a different ward?

The nurse looked up when he approached her station again. “What happened with Tom DeGrance?” he asked.

Her mouth pulled down, and a shadow passed over her face. “I’m sorry. He passed away this morning.”

“What?” Arthur stared at her, uncomprehending. “But he was stable last night.”

“And he woke up just fine this morning. None of us really saw it coming.”

Neither had Gwen. She’d been so full of hope when he’d dropped her off this morning, ready to brave another day without any signs of the depression that had caught her in its web yesterday.

_Oh, my god. Gwen._

“Where’s his daughter?” The request came out harsher than he anticipated, but fear for her was already gnawing its way to the surface.

“She left.”

“What do you mean, she _left_? Where did she go?”

“I don’t know. Home, I would guess. Dr. Gaius tried to talk to her, and she just walked away.”

Home. The place she’d been unable to face the day before because of the guilt it would rouse. She’d hardly go there in the wake of Tom’s unexpected death. But this nurse didn’t know Gwen, or the tribulations she’d faced over the past couple months. She didn’t know how terrified Gwen had been about being alone. At this point in time, there was no way she’d face a house full of memories and no father.

“Where’s Dr. Gaius now?”

“On rounds. Do you want me to page him?”

Arthur almost said yes. He wanted to know what had happened with Tom, how quickly it had been for him, how Gwen had seemed when she’d left. But he already knew the answers to at least some of that, because he knew Gwen. And the more time he wasted at the hospital, the less time he had to be there for her.

“No, thanks,” he said. “But if you see him, could you please tell him Arthur Pendragon was here? I’ll have my phone with me if he wants to ring.”

As he turned on his heel to head back to the lift, she called after him, “What about your number?”

“He knows how to get hold of me if he wants,” he said without breaking stride. He punched the button to go down harder than he should have. His thoughts were elsewhere, planning ahead before he ever made it to his car.

Just to be safe, he tried Gwen’s house first, but as he suspected, her Skoda was nowhere to be found. He knocked on the door to be sure, and when nobody came, quickly returned to his car. His flat was next. He wasted more time there, since he had to park and scout around for any sign of her. She didn’t sit in the hallway outside his door, and no message waited for him in his mail slot. 

He only had one more option after that.

When he saw her car parked in the library parking lot, he realized he should have followed his instincts rather than ruled out the other possibilities first. Of course, she would flee to the library. This was where she found sanctuary. Her safe place. After Tom, this building, worn and comfortable like a favorite pair of slippers, was the perfect place for her to find solace.

He spotted her almost as soon as he walked in, her head bent, her arms full of books. Her disheveled hair fell across her face, obscuring everything but the wire frame of her glasses, and she disappeared around the corner of a row of stacks, out of view, evaporated like so much smoke. A fleeting moment of terror spurred him forward. He didn’t want her gone. He didn’t want her vanishing, not from the world that was brighter for having her in it, not from his life that was richer for her smile. He would wait as long as it took for that smile to come back, just as long as she didn’t leave.

Though he started to follow after her, he paused when Geoffrey called his name. He waited for the older man to come around the desk, though his gaze kept jumping to the path he imagined Gwen took.

“Is something wrong?” Arthur asked.

“You tell me.” Geoffrey stood at his side, arms folded across his chest as, together, they watched Gwen emerge from one row just to disappear into the next. “She came in, asked if she could work, and hasn’t said a word to anyone since. I thought she was supposed to be at the hospital.”

“She was.” If Gwen hadn’t mentioned Tom, Arthur wasn’t sure he should be the one to do it. “Not a word?”

“She’s been shelving books almost the entire time she’s been here. Every time it looks like someone is approaching her desk, she takes another stack until somebody else takes care of it.”

Off in her own little world. Would she run away from him, too, if he tried approaching her?

“I’ll talk to her,” Arthur said. Or he’d try, anyway.

He kept his distance until she stopped in the biography section, then made sure to come around the long way so she could see him before he reached her. His heart sank a little when she caught his eye and almost immediately turned back to the spine of the book she held. _She’s burying herself in work. This isn’t about me._

“Fancy meeting you here,” he tried with a smile.

Gwen slid the book into place. “Are you done for the day already?”

The cool efficiency of her voice was worse than the lack of eye contact. “Done with my patients, anyway. I thought you were taking today off.”

“I changed my mind.”

“Any particular reason?”

For a brief moment, her hand trembled. She hid it away by holding the books in her arm more tightly. “Did you stop by Critical Care to look for me?”

“Of course, I did. I promised you I would.”

“So…did they tell you?”

Elaboration would have only prolonged the facade she tried so valiantly to hide behind. Arthur sighed and edged closer, reaching out to brush the hair away from her face. “Yes,” he said simply. “I’m so sorry, Gwen.”

Her mouth tightened, and she blinked rapidly. He was certain she was about to cry, but she nodded once instead. “Thank you.”

He expected more, but it didn’t come. “Let me take you home.”

“I can’t.”

“Then I’ll take you anywhere you want to go. Just name it.”

When she lifted her chin, her eyes glistened with unshed tears. “You don’t have to. I’m already here.”

“You shouldn’t work.”

“Why?”

He didn’t actually have a good answer for that. Because she should be making final arrangements for Tom? Because society demanded she take the time off? Nobody would be hurt if she stayed. No lives would be harmed. If it helped her deal with her mourning, even for a little while, who was he to deny her this tiny bit of consolation?

“You need to tell Geoffrey what happened. Tom was his friend, too.”

“I will. Later.”

“May I stay?”

He’d never asked before, and he knew that technically, he didn’t have to now. The library was a public place, so if Gwen said no, he could still ignore her wishes and park himself at any table he chose. 

But this was still her space, and it had been hers before he ever came along. Without her telling him what she needed, he could only make guesses. He wanted to be there, to help her get through the worst of her grief, but he couldn’t force it. She had to make that step this time.

Her dark eyes regarded him for long seconds, unblinking, unsure. He longed to pull her into his arms, but the books she held to her chest were as much of a shield as her seeming reluctance to speak.

Finally, she nodded. The relief coursing through him was bittersweet.

When she started to turn away, leaving him behind yet again, he caught her elbow to stop her. He couldn’t let her go without knowing how he felt, or how much he ached for her. Her gaze met his for a moment before he bent his head, and there, in the shadow of the stacks, he kissed her. It wasn’t the toe-curling kiss of his fantasies, not terribly deep or inherently graceful, but it satisfied the part of him that needed to prove himself, if only for the space of time their lips clung to each other.

She didn’t respond at first. Perhaps it was too much to expect she would. Then, her lower lip quivered, and she made that little gasping sound that always sent a jolt straight through his blood. As soon as he knew she understood, and was assured she wasn’t going to turn her back on him like she had so many other elements in her life, he pulled away, smiling down at her as he straightened.

She took longer to flee this time. And when she reached the end of the row, she looked back over her shoulder, as if checking to see if he was still there.

He was. He’d give her all the time she needed to come back to him, but he wasn’t going anywhere.

* * *

Her bones felt heavy.

Gwen had worked long hours before, a few double shifts before the library started having financial problems and Geoffrey was forced to cut back on people’s hours. She’d spent long days working in the garden, or traipsing around town on the rare shopping spree. She’d even had that long day at the medieval festival with Arthur, and walked away stiff and sore. But never had she felt this…well, the best word to describe it was _thick_. Like her limbs were made of granite, lacking flesh but still obeying her commands, albeit more slowly as the day went on.

She spoke to no one. Geoffrey was astute enough to know something was wrong, and gave her a wide berth after Arthur’s arrival. Others took care of the few people who approached her desk, lending her freedom to retreat even further into the safe monotony of the library. When she ran out of books to shelve, she began straightening and organizing, scanning each row in search of texts that were out of place, then moving them when it was required.

Her brain was too busy finding and keeping the order to distract her with reality.

Arthur sat alone at a table near her desk, seemingly absorbed in a book. Every time she stole a glance in his direction, his head was bent, or propped up on a fist, his gaze always on the page before him. But she knew it was a lie, just as she knew he was aware of her every movement. She felt him with each step, with each rounding of a stack, with each reach of her arm. His concern added to the weight of her bones, whether he realized it or not. She imagined he didn’t. He might not have persevered if he thought his presence was making it worse.

It wasn’t. Not at all. But it _was_ a reminder of what had happened today.

Not that she was likely to forget. Ever.

When it came time to close, Arthur was still at his table, and Geoffrey was the only other staffer in the building. Gwen cast Arthur one long look, then took a deep breath and headed for Geoffrey’s office. She hesitated on the threshold, knocking once on his open door.

He smiled as soon as his eyes lit upon her. “Yes?”

“If you want…I can lock up tonight.”

Geoffrey waved a hand in dismissal. “That’s not necessary. Your young man is still here, isn’t he? Go. Enjoy some time together.”

She didn’t want to leave. Where would she go? The prospect of walking into her home, dark and empty, prickled the back of her eyes with tears.

“I’m not…in that kind of a mood,” she said. Arthur’s gentle reminder flitted across her thoughts. “Dad…passed away this morning.”

Sympathy immediately replaced his smile, and he rose from his chair to come around his desk toward her. “Oh, Gwen, I’m so sorry.” 

When he took her into an unexpected hug, she shrank away, wishing she could run from the obvious attempt to comfort her. She didn’t, though. Somehow, she found the wherewithal to return the hug loosely, stepping back only when he let her go.

“You should definitely go, then,” he said. “Take as much time as you need.”

_I don’t need that kind of time._ But though she screamed the words on the inside, on the out, she merely nodded in acknowledgment.

“I’d like to keep working, if you don’t mind. It…helps.”

“Why don’t we talk about it tomorrow? Call me in the afternoon. Give yourself some time to think about it.”

He patted her on the shoulder, and she retreated even more, turning on her heel and bolting for her desk as soon as she was out of his sight. She ground to a halt when she saw Arthur leaning against the counter, patient and poised and so utterly perfect she almost lost her breath.

“Merlin’s out for the night,” he said. “We can have all the privacy at the flat that you want.”

“I won’t be very good company.”

“You think that really matters to me?”

Of course not. Especially for a man who’d sat alone all day being ignored, just to be there in case she needed him.

“I’ll follow you there, then.”

She waited for him to insist on driving, but after several seconds of careful regard, Arthur nodded. He was still there when she emerged with her jacket and keys, and took her hand without saying a word. The warmth and steadiness helped. She almost changed her mind and got into his car with him, just to keep holding on.

But she didn’t.

She didn’t remember the drive to Arthur’s flat. One minute she was in the library lot, the next Arthur was at her car door, taking her hand to lead her upstairs. She went through the motions when he let her in, but it was like she wasn’t in control of her body anymore, apart and distant to watch this stranger curl up on the end of the couch and rest her cheek against the arm.

Arthur crouched down in front of her. His kind gaze swept over her, and he brushed a loose tendril off her cheek. “I’ll put the kettle on,” he said softly.

Without moving, she watched him straighten and walk away. He always remained at least partially in view as he bustled around in the kitchen, and it wasn’t until he returned that she realized she hadn’t blinked the entire time he’d been gone. It was almost as if she feared that if she did, he’d be gone, too.

His concerned face appeared before her again. “What can I do?”

“Start the day over again?” _Bring him back?_

He sighed. His touch returned, grazing along her cheek, back and forth. She wished she wasn’t so numb. She wanted to feel it. To feel him. Feel anything.

“The nurse said he was awake this morning. Did you get to talk to him?”

She nodded. Her neck felt too spindly to hold up her head.

“At least there’s that.”

Gwen stared at him. “Are you serious? What we talked about…it was rubbish. East Enders, and, and…the party we’d have when he got home, and…” She gulped for air. Her throat had suddenly closed off. “I wasn’t even there when it happened. I was off getting juice and crisps because he said he was peckish.”

His “Oh, Gwen,” was muffled when he rose and pulled her into his arms. She fought against the abrupt shift, hands balled into fists as she pushed at his chest, but within moments, the solidity of his embrace soothed her initial instinct to flee. He cupped the back of her head, his lips brushing against her temple, and she buried her face in the soft fabric of his shirt.

“I didn’t even get to tell him I loved him.” Saying the words out loud, the same ones that had been haunting her all day, driving her to stay busy, stay ahead of them, released the torrent of tears she’d managed to hold off until now. The first ragged sob jerked her shoulders almost violently, and Arthur tightened his arms, pulling her more firmly against him.

She cried until she couldn’t breathe, and her head pounded from the force of the blood rushing along her scalp. Her fingers clawed into his shirt, desperate for purchase, but Arthur never complained or moved away. He allowed her the freedom to let it go, to shove it away in vain hope that it wouldn’t ever hurt again.

Her face felt swollen to twice its size by the time the sobs began to subside. She tried to pull away, but Arthur wouldn’t let her. His arms remained steady as he bent his mouth to her ear.

“He knew,” he whispered. “Trust me, Gwen. Your dad was very well aware of how much you loved him already. You showed him that every day.”

“I should have told him again.”

“I know you wish that. But he didn’t need convincing. And he’d hate that you’re beating yourself up over it.”

“I’m not…” Except she was, and denying it made her feel foolish. Instead… “I miss him. So much.”

“I know.”

“I didn’t get to say goodbye.”

“Did he laugh?”

“What?”

“Today. The time you got together. Was he laughing? Did you make him smile?”

Echoes of his jokes floated back, the self-deprecating humor she’d somehow managed to inherit. “Yeah. I guess.”

“So, all right, maybe you didn’t get to say goodbye. But it sounds to me you got to make him happy. That matters. He probably would have appreciated that more than having to see you upset about farewells.”

Arthur made sense, and she believed him, intellectually if not emotionally. It was just…the emotional stuff was so much stronger. For what felt like the first time in her life, Gwen felt like her head was nowhere to be found. She was just raw feeling and scorched nerve endings, no common sense, no calm rationality, nothing that had always typified who she was.

She felt afloat. This wasn’t her. She didn’t know who this person was.

“I’ll have to call Dr. Gaius tomorrow,” she murmured. “I ran out on him today.”

“I think he’ll understand.”

“What am I supposed to do?”

“When?”

“Tonight. Tomorrow. The day after that.”

Gently, he eased his hold on her, allowing her room to sit back. Before she went too far, he cupped her face, keeping her still long enough to meet his eyes.

“You’re going to remember him,” he said. “And you’re going to honor him by living the life he wanted you to have.”

The tears threatened to return. Arthur’s tone held such solemnity, she couldn’t deny the truth of his intent. Because he was right about one thing. Tom would not have wanted her to shut herself away, no matter how much easier it was. Part of her wondered if that was why he’d asked so many questions about Arthur, like he was hanging on until he was sure she wouldn’t be alone, that she could have support in a time of need, that she might even have a future already. She didn’t dwell on it long, though.

The future was too far away to think about. She had to figure out how to get through the night first. Then tomorrow. And the day after that.

Closing her eyes, she tilted her head into Arthur’s touch. He believed in her. In her strength. In what she could do.

In the absence of her own faith, she would cling to his. And because she knew that Tom had believed in the same, she would hold on to his, too.


	20. Chapter 20

Sometimes, Arthur wondered how Gwen did it.

As exhausted as he knew she was, they stayed up until nearly four in the morning the day Tom died. More than once, he tried to coax her into the bedroom, but then Gwen would start talking again, and he couldn’t bring himself to tell her sleep was important, too. She’d kept a lot of things bottled up during the day. Granted, her bursts of questions and crying were interspersed with far longer bouts of silence where all she did was nestle against his chest, but they were more than what she’d let out all day. She needed to let the wound bleed to get the poison out. He knew that, even when he wished he could offer something more tangible to make it all better.

She went to work the next day. Only for a few hours, because Geoffrey refused her any more, but still, more than Arthur thought she should. When he came around to pick her up, Geoffrey confessed to him that he used the library’s monetary problems – falsely so, for a change – as an excuse to deny her request. 

That night, she asked him to take her home. Her home, not his flat. It was the first time she’d been there since Tom had been rushed to Emergency. Her excuse? She’d run out of clean clothes at Arthur’s. It was a lie, and they both knew it, but he let it slide. He drove her to the bungalow, sat with her the ten minutes it took for her to gather the courage just to go up to the front door, and then accompanied her once she was ready to go inside.

On the threshold, she took a long, shuddering breath. He expected her to start crying, though she hadn’t done that since her jag at his flat. When she lifted her chin and marched straight for her bedroom, he watched her with raised brows. The breakdown they had both anticipated never came. He couldn’t decide if that was good or bad.

Through it all, she remained mostly silent. Oh, sure, she’d smile wanly at his attempts to lighten the mood, or answer questions when they were posed directly to her. But most of the time, she withdrew to a place only she knew the way to, leaving Arthur behind and wondering if he was actually doing her any good by hanging around. It was one thing to have attuned his skills with patients at the hospital, learning over time how best to help them emotionally as well as physically. It was another to try and help the woman who meant more to him than any other woman ever had.

He felt helpless. His only choice was to keep doing what he was and hope that it was enough.

Monday morning, his phone rang at nine-thirty. He’d spent the night alone. Again. He knew it was good for Gwen to face the life she’d had with her father by spending time at her house, but the more time they were apart, the more he wished it didn’t have to be that way.

He smiled when he saw her name on the phone. The fact that she was seeking him out had to be a good thing.

“You’re the best way to start my day,” he said as greeting. “Let alone my whole week.”

“That’s good to hear.” Though she didn’t sound her normal self yet, he heard improvements in her tone. He only wished he could see her face, too. “Listen, I called because I was hoping you hadn’t scheduled any patients for today.”

It was on the tip of his tongue to ask why she’d think he wouldn’t, when he realized what day of the week it was. Tom would’ve had his chemo this afternoon, if he were still alive. Gwen might have hated it, but it’d been proof there was still hope. Now, she had to be strong facing yet another Monday, even if her reason was entirely different now.

“I haven’t asked for Mondays back yet,” he said. “So just tell me when you want me.”

“Is lunch all right?”

He frowned. “Just lunch?”

“I’d like to go out, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course. When and where?”

The venue surprised him. It was a bit more posh than Gwen usually opted for. But if that was what she wanted, who was he to deny her?

The morning dragged. Gwen had insisted they meet at the restaurant, but when he tried to find out why, she became evasive. Assuming it had something to do with Tom made it easier to stop pressing, but that same assumption only worried him that she was slipping away from him. He didn’t like the idea that she was bottling everything up. It wasn’t healthy, and as far as he knew, she wasn’t talking to anybody else about what was going on.

_Or maybe she’s chatting with that American friend of hers online._ Gwen might consider her safer since she couldn’t actually see Gwen when they talked.

He decided to believe that was what was going on. It made him feel better.

Gwen hovered outside the front door when he pulled into the car park. She wore a somber ensemble, dark trousers with a simple jumper, but the look was softened by how she’d pulled her hair up into a loose knot, wispy tendrils escaping to tease the graceful line of her neck. His heart clenched. She looked beautiful.

A small smile tipped her mouth as he approached, and she came into his embrace without hesitation. When he kissed her cheek, she sighed, her soft body melting further into his. 

“I’ve missed you,” she murmured.

“Easy way to fix that.” He squeezed her hand when they parted, refusing to let her go. “Is there any reason we can’t spend tonight together?”

The slight shine in her eyes dimmed, and she glanced at the front door of the restaurant. “Why don’t we talk about that after we eat?”

“Aw, now, my dinner habits aren’t _that_ bad.”

Though she didn’t laugh like he’d hoped, she did cock a brow and gaze at him with a hint of her old humor. “Sometimes, I think you forget there are utensils on the table.” She tugged gently. “Come on. You can prove me wrong.”

Seeing her more playful side asserting its presence, even as warily as it was, put a bounce in his step as he followed her inside. The hostess came forward to greet them, but Gwen was already scanning the restaurant’s interior, only partially paying attention to what the young woman was saying to them.

“It’s all right,” Gwen interrupted. “Our party’s already arrived.”

Arthur looked at her sharply. She’d mentioned nothing of this to him on the phone. “Who are we…?” But the question died on his tongue as he followed her line of sight. His blood chilled when he saw Uther sitting alone in a booth along the wall.

Though Arthur tensed, Gwen tightened her grip. Neither one of them uttered a word as she navigated around the edge of the room, purposefully approaching Uther from the front so he could see them. When Uther lifted his gaze, there was a split second of joy as he spotted Arthur, quickly disintegrating into a frown when his eyes swept to Gwen.

Uther rose as they came to a stop. “I thought I was having lunch with Arthur,” he said, the accusation heavy in his voice.

“You are,” Gwen said before Arthur could interject.

“Then what are you doing here?”

“I made the arrangements. I wasn’t sure Arthur would come, otherwise.”

On that, she was correct. Uther deserved none of his respect after the appalling way he’d treated Gwen when they’d met.

“I was hoping you would let me stay,” Gwen continued.

Uther snorted. “Do I have a choice in the matter?”

“Of course. Say the word, and I’ll leave. I’m well aware you don’t like me, Mr. Pendragon. That you think I’m not good enough for Arthur. And honestly, considering how much he’s done for me, even just in the last fortnight, I have to admit, sometimes, I think that, too.”

“Gwen—”

“But I love your son,” she went on, as if Arthur hadn’t tried to speak at all. She uttered the declaration without looking away from Uther, but the fingers around his began to tremble, and he recognized the slight tilt of her chin as she faced his father down. “He is the strongest, most courageous, generous man I’ve ever met. That night you saw me at his flat, he tried to convince me he was nothing like you, but I don’t think that can be entirely true. Because you still raised him. And for all the flaws in your relationship, I have to believe you still love him. I’d hate to be even part of the reason your relationship deteriorates further.” She took a deep breath. “So, I’d like this opportunity for you to get to know me better. I want you to see that I only want him to be happy, no matter what it takes.”

“And you think one lunch can do that.”

“I don’t know. But I’m more than willing to try. For Arthur’s sake.”

When Uther didn’t immediately respond, his eyes narrowed and fixed on Gwen in shrewd scrutiny, Arthur jumped in. “It’s just one meal, Father. Surely, you can be civil to her for the next hour.”

Uther’s gaze slid to Arthur, the same penetrating stare that had sent him quailing as a boy. Now, it merely bolstered his resolve. This was what Gwen wanted, and damned if he’d let Uther taint that.

“All right,” Uther conceded. “Since you’ve gone to such lengths to get Arthur and I together, the least I can do is hear you out.”

Nobody would have seen the relief flood through Gwen’s body, but Arthur knew. He felt it in the slightly clammy grip of her hand, and the soft relaxing of her shoulders.

“Good.” She smiled up at Arthur. “I’m just going to run to the ladies’. I’ll be right back.”

Though she squeezed his hand and let it go, he bent and kissed her cheek before she could flee. “I know why you did this,” he whispered in her ear. “Which makes _you_ the courageous one.”

Her face was flushed as she stepped back. With one last glance at Uther, she strode away.

“She’s rather headstrong, isn’t she?” Uther commented.

“Morgana likes her. That should give you some clue.”

“Yes, well, Morgana already read me the riot act concerning your…Gwen.” He slid back into the booth, watching Arthur do the same. “But I’m glad to see she took this initiative. I…didn’t like how we ended things the last time, Arthur. Perhaps I overreacted a little.”

It was a far greater concession than he would have ever expected to hear from Uther Pendragon, one which he wished Gwen could have heard. But he’d meant what he said to her. She might have used the excuse of getting to know Uther to bring them together, but that wasn’t all of it. She didn’t want Arthur to lose his father, especially when Uther was hale and hearty and practically around the corner. Arthur wasn’t sure her attempts would succeed, but he was willing to put the effort forward in hopes that they would.

“Well, if I’d had the courtesy to return even one of your calls, perhaps we could have prevented that scene entirely.”

Uther nodded once, acknowledging Arthur’s own concession with the same grace, surprising as it was. He picked up the wine menu he’d been perusing and opened it up. “Does Gwen prefer red or white?”

Arthur smiled. Lunch might not be such a chore, after all.


	21. Chapter 21

The day of Tom’s funeral began surprisingly sunny, the only clouds in the sky those ringing the horizon. Arthur and Merlin dressed quickly, foregoing breakfast to stop at the bakery around the corner to pick up some buns before heading over to Gwen’s. It would be a simple affair, but Gwen planned on issuing a blanket invitation to everyone who attended the service to feel welcome to come over to the house afterward. Since Tom had known a lot of people, she worried about being prepared for them. Arthur had immediately volunteered their services to help out in any way possible.

Their primary job was setting up the marquee. The bungalow was small, and though people were likely not to arrive all at the same time, it would still be cramped. Rather than have Gwen worry about the cost of a lease, Arthur had made arrangements to borrow one of the marquees the hospital used for their annual fete. It would provide cover if the weather turned on them, as well as give ample space for people to sit and chat. He took care of the tables and chairs, too. Gwen had enough to fuss about with food and drink.

When they arrived, she waved them in from the door, disappearing back inside as soon as they got out of the car. Merlin frowned as he waited for Arthur at the side gate.

“She looks frazzled,” he commented. “Should we go check on her?”

Silently, Arthur agreed, but he shook his head anyway. “She needs to keep busy. It’s how she copes. If she needs help, she’ll ask.” _I hope._

They worked for two hours, putting up the marquee that had been delivered the night before, arranging the tables and chairs in the best way possible. Gwen came out only once, to ensure they had placed the buffet tables as close to the back door as they could. As soon as she was assured everything was exactly as she’d asked, she bustled back in again.

Merlin collapsed into a chair when they were done, legs sprawled in front of him. “We get to crash here for the rest of the day, right?”

Arthur threw the soft bag that had held the marquee pegs at Merlin’s head. “You really need to let me show you some exercises, mate. You’re going all soft on me.”

“I don’t have a girlfriend I’m trying to impress.”

“I don’t do it to impress Gwen.”

“And I’m sure you actually believe that.”

When Merlin threw the bag back at him, Arthur simply watched it fall to the ground, several feet short. “See? Now that’s just sad.”

“Well, if I knew it was going to be fun and games out here, I might’ve signed up for this rather than food duty.”

At the sound of Gwen’s amused voice, both men stopped and turned to see her standing on the back step. She’d changed her clothes, shucking the jeans and sweatshirt combo she’d been working in for black trousers and a sleek, silk blouse that shouldn’t have looked as sexy as it did. Her make-up was minimal – only enough to hide the worst of the shadows still haunting her face – but her soft smile was all Arthur truly saw. They’d been rare in the past week, and he considered each one a gift. Especially today of all days.

“Merlin’s trying to ensure your guests get rained on with all his mucking about,” Arthur said. “While _I’m_ doing my best to keep him from ruining everything.”

“Uh huh,” Gwen said disbelievingly. She tilted her head to gaze up at the clear sky. “I can see why you’re so concerned.”

Scooping up the bag, Arthur folded it into a small square as he walked over to her. “We’re done out here. Anything you need for us to do inside?”

“I let you in now, and all the food will be gone before anyone arrives.”

“Merlin’s the one with the bottomless pit of a stomach.” When both Merlin and Gwen simply stared at him, he rolled his eyes. “Fine. So I can have an appetite. I burn a lot of calories.”

“And the ones that stick around do manage to stick to all the right places,” Gwen said with a smile. “So I suppose you’re allowed.”

From inside the house, the muffled sound of her phone drifted out. Gwen turned on her heel and dashed inside to catch it.

“She seems to be doing well,” Merlin commented. “Better than I expected.”

“Keeping her mind off it helps.” 

Arthur’s gaze remained steady on the back door. The crematorium would be much more difficult. There, she wouldn’t be able to hide away from it all. She’d held herself together remarkably in the time since Tom’s death, better than he could have hoped for, but today would be the true test. 

When the door opened again, the tension had returned to her jaw. No smile greeted them this time, and the eyes that turned to Arthur were dark and sad. 

“That was Leon, one of Dad’s friends from work. Everything’s set at the crematorium.”

“Are you ready to head over?”

She nodded. “I’ll meet you at the car.”

Merlin took the back seat without having to be told, though Gwen barely looked anywhere but out her window the entire drive. Arthur wanted to reach over and touch her, but driving made it awkward, and she kept her hands folded in her lap. As soon as they’d reached the crematorium, however, he was at her side, his hand in the small of her back, right there with her as they went inside.

A few people milled around, nobody he recognized, and Gwen went straight to a youngish man with shaggy hair and a matching beard. Arthur hung back as they hugged, but the embrace was short enough for him not to be too jealous of the physical contact.

“Leon, this is Arthur Pendragon.” Having returned to Arthur’s side, she gestured between the two men. “Arthur, this is Leon Wentworth. He worked with Dad. He’s been a godsend helping me with the arrangements.”

They shook hands. “It’s good to finally meet you,” Leon said. “Tom told me a lot about you.”

The revelation surprised Arthur, though if he thought about it, it really shouldn’t have. If Leon was close enough to Tom to merit being one of the coordinators for his funeral, he was certainly close enough for the man to become Tom’s confidant about Gwen.

Gwen tucked her hand into Arthur’s. “There are some other people I’d like you to meet.”

She guided him around the room, making introductions. Everyone he shook hands with was another colleague of Tom’s, and more than a couple recognized his name when Gwen uttered it. On one hand, it was heartening to hear Tom had seen the potential in his relationship with Gwen. On the other, he now realized more than a few people looked over her, ensuring she wouldn’t get hurt. He hoped Tom had conveyed Arthur’s good intentions as well as the other details. It seemed she had just been adopted by at least a dozen strong-backed men willing to go to the wall for her.

When it came time to take their seats, Merlin sat toward the back of the mourners, but Gwen didn’t let Arthur go, drawing him toward the first row to sit with her. Her grip had grown increasingly tight over the course of the introductions, and by the time they sat down, her palm was sweaty. He expected her to let him go during the service, to fold her hands into her lap like she often did.

But she didn’t. Their fingers remained entwined even after the music started.

As much as he wanted to pay attention to what was going on, Arthur couldn’t. His entire focus was on Gwen, and the way she clung to him, the way she occasionally turned her head toward his shoulder and closed her eyes. Her hand trembled in his, and every so often, she’d catch her breath, almost silently, as if on the verge of tears. She never cried, though. Her eyes glistened, and she’d occasionally dab at the corners with a tissue she held in her other hand, but he never saw a tear slip down her cheek.

He missed a large part of the service. He knew it. And he _did_ feel guilty about it. But the way he figured it, Tom wouldn’t have minded. Wherever Tom was, he would’ve preferred Arthur made Gwen his first priority. As far as Arthur was concerned, he was doing exactly what he should.

As the time approached for Gwen to say a few words, her hand grew colder and colder. She was terrified of doing it. She’d confessed the night before over the phone, at the end of a very long conversation that had been filled with more Arthur’s words than hers.

_“I just want to hear the sound of your voice,” she said._

_So he gave it to her. Until the end when she whispered, “I don’t know how I’m going to face all those people tomorrow.”_

_“They’re there to support you. You don’t have anything to fear from them.”_

_“What if I start crying?”_

_“What if you do? They understand what a loss this is for you, Gwen. They’re not going to judge you because you miss him.”_

But he’d known then that his words mostly fell on deaf ears. He could tell from the pinched corners of her mouth as she finally let go of his hand and crossed to the podium. She looked impossibly tiny standing behind it, her head bowed, a loose tendril slipping onto her cheek. 

“I’d like to thank you all for coming today.” Her voice wavered, and she paused to quietly clear it. Taking a deep breath, she lifted her chin and finally looked out over the group. “It means more than you can imagine to know how much my father was loved. Every single one of you meant something to him, and if he could see you know, he’d be just as overwhelmed as I am.”

Her voice grew stronger with each word she uttered, though Arthur could still see her nerves trying to get the best of her. He tried to catch her eye, to smile and reassure she was doing wonderfully, but her gaze refused to settle, jumping from guest to guest, drinking them all in.

“I’m sure this came as a shock to many of you,” she went on. “My father was very private about his illness.” She offered a half smile. “He only told me when he knew he couldn’t get away with it anymore.” The crowd chuckled, in full sympathy with Gwen. Their reaction seemed to bolster her self-confidence, though she took another long breath. “But it came as a shock to me, too. I wasn’t in denial about what his odds were. I did the research. I knew it would be a hard fight. No, it was a shock for other reasons. Because one moment he was there, laughing and helping me plan his coming home party – which, by the way, he wanted to be an East Enders fancy dress theme, so be thankful I was there to try and talk him out of it—” More supportive laughter. “—but then the next moment, he was gone. And I thought, ‘That’s it?’ I didn’t get to say goodbye, I didn’t get to say I love you. I was at a loss, in so many ways. I still am. I probably always will be to some degree. Because he filled a place in my life nobody else can claim.”

Her eyes shone. Her fears about crying in front of everybody looked to be coming true.

“But in the middle of thinking about how I’ll never get the opportunity to ask his advice again, or to hear stories about how I’m just like my Nan, I realized something. I get to tell my children, when they come, about their grandfather, and about what a strong man he was, and about what a big heart he had, and about how he would protect me from anything, no matter what the cost. I get to tell them about how he always tortured me with his endless love for _The Archers_ , and how he always managed to find money for me to get a new book when I wanted one. They will get to know him through my memories, and I have no doubt that they will love him as much as if he was still here to give them a hug when they come to visit. Because that was the kind of man he was. And that’s the kind of man we knew.” 

She stopped and squeezed her eyes shut, turning her head away to try and shield it from her audience. Arthur straightened, ready to go to her, watching for any sign that she needed him. Everyone in the room held their breath for her, silently willing her to face them again. 

_We’re behind you,_ he heard them say. _We’re with you._

When she looked up again, the tears flowed down her cheeks, silent and steady. “There have been a lot of things in my life that I wished were different. More popular in school, prettier, thinner. But not Dad. Never Dad. I was privileged to be his daughter. And _that’s_ the man I will always cherish the memory of. Thank you.”

Gwen didn’t look at anybody as she returned to her seat, but as soon as Arthur slipped his arm around her shoulder, she turned her face into his chest and her entire body hitched in a quiet sob.

Cupping the back of her head, Arthur bent his head, holding her close, his mouth at her ear. “You were both lucky,” he murmured. “Tom would be so proud of you right now.”

He felt Gwen’s small nod, but otherwise, she didn’t move.

Neither one of them did, not until the music started to play, dismissing everyone from the service.


	22. Chapter 22

Dew still coated the grass when Gwen locked the front door. The hour was early, especially for a Sunday, with barely a hint of traffic noise drifting in from the nearby motorway. A thin veneer of clouds shellacked the sky, but the less than ideal weather didn’t bother her. She had more things to think about than the color of the sky. It wasn’t supposed to rain, either, so her plans would hold, regardless of how picturesque or not it might be.

She wasn’t looking for excuses to get out of doing this. She’d put it off as long as she could already. 

Arthur’s car was one of three already in the lot when she pulled in. He leaned against the bonnet, intent on the phone in his hand, the slight breeze in the air rustling his hair. Just the sight of him was enough to make her feel lighter, and it wasn’t because of the way his jeans molded over his thighs as he stretched his legs out in front of him. In the nearly three weeks since Tom’s funeral, their relationship had shifted. Tom’s cancer was no longer the specter winding invisibly around them, or the impetus for their Monday meetings and late night conversations. Now, she called Arthur because she wanted to hear about his day, or needed to know about their plans, or simply, just to hear the sound of his voice. The time they spent together was dictated by their own lives, not someone else’s, and it made for a heady thrill, knowing Arthur wrangled with his schedule as much as she did in order to spend as much time with her as possible.

Only one thing remained the same. She hadn’t yet been able to tell him to his face that she loved him. The closest she’d come was admitting it in front of his father at that lunch that had turned out better than she’d anticipated, but Arthur hadn’t mentioned it, and she’d never found the right time to say it again. 

Well, that wasn’t entirely true. There had probably been quite a few opportunities. But she was more than a little nervous about telling him aloud when he’d never even referenced the first time she’d said it.

As her tires ground against the gravel, Arthur looked up from whatever he was doing on his phone and immediately smiled. The mobile went into the pocket of the light jacket he wore, and he pushed away from the car to walk over and meet her.

“Why are you here so early?” she asked as she got out.

“Because Merlin had to be here so early.” He bent and brushed a kiss across her cheek. “I swear, he has no idea what the definition of quiet is, especially at six in the morning.”

Her gaze slipped past him to the brightly colored hot air balloon waiting for them in the field. Against the watery gray clouds, the yellow and red stripes were a joyful beacon, lifting spirits of any who gazed upon it. Gwen’s included.

“Is he ready, then?”

Arthur nodded. “He’s just waiting for us.”

Side by side, they walked across the lot, onto the grass, toward the balloon. Merlin appeared from its far side, adjusting something unseen on the basket, and when he saw them, waved them closer.

When she’d found out what Merlin did for a living, Gwen had been fascinated. Ballooning seemed like more of a hobby than a career, but Merlin had gone on for hours about the history and science it involved as well. He was as passionate about his work as Arthur was with his, lighting up whenever the topic got mentioned. She’d been a little hesitant about asking his opinion on her plans, but Arthur had thought the idea brilliant, coaxing her to approach Merlin as soon as possible.

Merlin had loved the idea, too. And apparently, she wasn’t the first person to consider doing it.

“All ready to go,” he announced with a broad smile. He swept his arm toward the open door on the basket. “Your chariot awaits.”

There wasn’t a lot of room to move around once all three of them were aboard. Her knees suddenly felt like jelly, realizing she was so close to the edge. It helped when Arthur slid his arm around the front of her waist, holding her lightly against his chest, but she couldn’t even see Merlin behind them. His focus wouldn’t be on her, or what she was going to do, but on controlling the balloon. 

Her stomach lurched at the first gentle lift, but as the ground fell away beneath them, her racing heart evened itself out. It was impossible to panic with Arthur so firm behind her, and the basket was steadier than she would have imagined it could be. It hardly swayed at all, even with the wind tickling past her ear. Focusing on the shrinking countryside helped, too. The farther up they got, the more beautiful the swells and greenery became. She knew, then, she’d made the right choice.

Though Merlin remained silent, respecting her privacy most likely, it surprised her that Arthur did, too. He’d been up in the balloon before, so it wasn’t like the amazing vista was anything new for him. She’d almost expected a running commentary as he pointed out spots on the horizon. He had to know she would obsess if she wasn’t distracted. It was unusual for him to remain so quiet.

Their lift leveled out, and they floated along for several minutes simply enjoying the view. Her bag grew heavier with each passing second. The time was coming, whether she was ready or not. The weight against her shoulder was almost Tom’s last subtle hint to let him go.

“Here,” she said out of the blue, though she knew Merlin couldn’t very well stop the balloon. “I like this area.”

“It’s beautiful,” Arthur agreed. His arm disappeared, and he shifted to stand more next to her, on the opposite side of her bag. His cheeks were slightly pink, and she wondered if he was too warm in his coat. Merlin had explained that the radiant heat from the burners kept the balloon plenty heated, so she’d dressed relatively light. It made little sense that Arthur hadn’t. “Are you going to say anything?”

Gwen shook her head. “I said everything I needed at the crematorium. And if I missed something…” She shrugged. “Dad would understand.”

Opening her bag, she pulled out the small urn containing Tom’s ashes. Its heft took her by surprise every time she picked it up, and she cradled it carefully between her hands to keep from letting it slip. Tom’s will had only stated he wanted to be cremated. He’d left it up to Gwen to decide what to do afterward. She’d debated a long time, wondering if it was too macabre to keep him on the mantel, or whether it was better to find a small, private place where she could bury him.

She’d opted for scattering him one night at Arthur’s flat after listening to Merlin chat about his day at work. The three of them had been curled up on the couch, half-empty Chinese cartons on the table. She’d been drifting off against Arthur when Merlin started talking. He described a specific trip that day, and how some tourists had been particularly vocal about the beauty of the English countryside, and suddenly, she’d known.

Tom wouldn’t want to spend eternity sitting on a shelf, or stuck in the ground. He’d want to be a part of the world, to do rather than just to be. It was a trait Arthur shared with him in abundance, and likely one of the things she loved most about both men. It was a lesson she needed to more fully take on board for herself.

Though her chest was tight, her hands were steady as she removed the lid. A few motes from the surface caught on the wind and flitted away. Seeing them gambol along the unseen eddies provided the only courage she needed to tip the urn over the side. 

“Bye, Dad,” she whispered.

The ashes formed a small cloud before dissipating into smaller clusters, filtering along the air as the breeze carried them away. She watched some of them climb higher, while others almost immediately began a descent. Each one became its own, took on its own life. Each one convinced her she’d done exactly the right thing.

When the last finally disappeared, she let out the breath she’d been holding and turned around, offering a smile to the only two men she would have allowed to witness such an intimate act. “So, that’s it,” she said. “Do we head back now?”

Merlin pointedly looked out over the horizon, while next to her, Arthur cleared his throat. “Actually, I’m not quite ready to go just yet.” Catching her hand, he angled her toward the view again, stepping closer to give them the air of privacy. His blue eyes searched hers, warm and wonderful. “Are you all right?”

She took a moment to consider it, because she knew Arthur’s concern was genuine and worth more than a flash response. “Yes,” she said after a moment. “I am. I know this is what he would’ve wanted.”

“He would’ve been proud of you, Gwen.” He turned his gaze toward the countryside, a half smile playing on his lips. “You gave him the world.”

A flush of pride heated her cheeks, and she ducked her head to hide the fresh color. Arthur caught her chin with a single finger and forced her to look up at him again.

“I don’t want this day to be about loss,” he said. “When you said this was what you wanted to do, I was worried doing this would spoil things for you. Like ever taking another balloon ride, or seeing pictures with this kind of view in them.” When she opened her mouth to protest, he held up his hand, gently stopping her from interrupting. “I know you think it won’t happen. And I know how strong you are. Which is why I want you to come away with something from this. Something good, I hope.”

He fumbled in his coat pocket. Why was he looking for his phone, now of all times? Except what he pulled out wasn’t his mobile. It was a long, thin box, one he held out until she took it.

She gasped when she opened the lid. Nestled in a bed of red silk was a gold necklace, its charm a pair of engraved hearts bound together on the blade of a long sword. A single ruby glinted on the hilt, reminding her of the swords they’d seen the day they’d spent at the medieval fair. 

“I’m not a bard,” Arthur said. “So I don’t have fancy words to explain how I feel. What I have is…I love you, Gwen. More than I ever thought it was possible to love anyone. I should have told you a long time ago, but…well, I didn’t want you to think I was just saying it to make you feel better or something.”

Her head had snapped up at the first _love_ , but by the time he finished, she was shaking her head. “I would never have thought that.”

His rueful smile came with a slight shrug. “It wasn’t worth the risk. But it doesn’t make my feelings for you any less true. You have my heart, and you always will.”

Every word he uttered stole another ounce of her breath, until her head swam and she could see nothing but him. Forgetting the box in her hand, she pressed forward, kissing him with trembling lips, grateful when his arm braced against the small of her back to keep them together. She could feel his heart pounding through his chest. It almost eclipsed hers. The details didn’t matter, though, not when he loved her, not when he laid himself bare like that, proving in both word and deed he was the man she’d believed him to be.

They were both panting when they parted, resting their brows against the other’s. “I don’t need poetry,” Gwen whispered. “I just need you.”

“You have me.”

“I love you.”

He chuckled. “You have no idea how good it is to hear you say that.”

“Why?”

“Because the last time you said it, it was before that lunch with Father. I was a little afraid you’d changed your mind.”

It was her turn to laugh. “Well, if he can’t scare me off, I’m afraid you’re stuck with me.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

He kissed her again. Gwen sank into the caress, happier than she’d thought she could be on a day like today.

Because whether he knew it or not, Arthur’s poetry resided within him. In thought, in deed, in the very fiber of his being. He would never settle for the easy road, simply because it held fewer obstacles. He would lift his sword to do what he felt was right, just like the bards he so greatly admired.

And that, more than anything else, proved she was right. To love him, to trust him, to share his future. He might think she was strong, but together, they were even stronger.


End file.
